Broken Record
by T'eyla Minh
Summary: Continuation of my Counterpoints for 'Touched' and 'Chosen'; post-finale effort. B/S, W/X, B/G, X/Andrew-ish. A prophecy, a Slayer, her vampire, and a great big cliche. You were warned. Chapter 3 up. Feel the Spuffy. :D
1. Prologue

**BROKEN RECORD**

_**Summary:** A Slayer, a vampire, a big ol' prophecy, and life after Sunnydale. To tell you any more in the summary would probably ruin it. Come on, don't you trust me?  
**Rating:** PG to PG-13, depending entirely on how it progresses. PG-13 will be for language, if nothing else. Angst, of course. Songfic. Sort of.  
**Disclaimer:** The characters don't belong to me, and nor do any of the songs. They're all credited in the fic itself. Only one character belongs to me, and… I can't tell you who that is yet.  
**Pairing/s:** Buffy/Spike, mainly, though not for a while. Willow/Kennedy for all of five minutes, then probably more Willow/Xander-based. Buffy/Giles in the same way as in "Cradle"… Xander/Anya by default through the angst, some overtones of Xander/Andrew (you'll see…) and Robin/Faith, though they're not in it that much. Angel's in this, but… okay, avoiding Buffy/Angel is a stupid idea in that case, but I'll just… think of something. It's appealing to obliterate him entirely, but he's sort of a key figure in this…  
**Setting:** Spoils for season 7 in general, and the season finale. This is technically set after my "Touched" and "Chosen" Counterpoint fics, but… it's not vital to read them. I'd appreciate, it, though.  
**Warning/s:** It's a cliché! I know it is! I'm so, so sorry. You know how it is when you're inspired. In any case, it's an ironic self-aware post-modern cliché, so that sort of makes up for it. It's going to end on a cliffhanger, of sorts, because I already know what I'm doing for its sequel.  
**Author's Notes:** This was inspired by a song in Miss Saigon, the film of Interview With the Vampire, purely because it had vampires in it, lots of re-watching of "Chosen", and the desperate urge to write a continuation. I'm attempting to make each chapter based on a song, not necessarily a songfic, but rather… related to the mood of the lyrics. Maybe some recycling of a line, or something. I'm not quite sure, but I'll see how it plays out. Consider it a journey through my CD collection. (Although there's lots by Katie Melua; I highly recommend her Call Off the Search album, by the way.) Feel free to smack me very hard for a) attempting this and b) the cliché. I have no excuse…_

**Broken Record**

**Prologue**

She still remembers it: that split second when she managed to ruin it all. The conversation, what little there was of it, replays itself, over and over in her memory, every word, every confused and conflicted feeling, every one of those long, lingering expressions, so full of blind hope. Everything repeats as though stuck on freeze-frame, forcing her, inch by inch, to relive the way the light in his eyes faltered, how his smile fell; she can pinpoint the exact moment his heart shattered into a million tiny shards. Some days, she's even convinced she can hear it. 

Six words was all it had taken; six stupid, unplanned words, that if she'd only thought more carefully about… well, perhaps it wouldn't have made a difference to that act of final nobility, but she might not be feeling so utterly terrible. 

_'Does it have to mean something?_' she'd asked. It had been an honest question, and her motives had been real and plain enough to her. She'd been confused, frightened of her ever deepening feelings for him, and of what those feelings could mean. She'd needed his insight, wanted him to help her analyse her emotions like he was used to doing; he was the expert, after all, in baring his soul for the world to see, so it stood to reason he could be the one to excavate her own from whatever cavity she'd exiled it to. Unfortunately, he hadn't realised; correction, she hadn't made it clear. And so, instead of taking his heart as he laid it out before her, instead of holding it as hers and keeping it safe, she'd only watched it fracture. The fragments scattered across the kitchen, skittering over the surfaces and all over the floor, as he turned and left without bothering to try and collect the salvageable pieces. They fell on her skin, dug into her soul where he'd soothed it once before, and cursed her forever with the memory of how she'd finally destroyed him beyond repair. 

After that, it had been futile. She tried to make up for it; she proved that she trusted him, and tried so hard to show that she cared - that she _loved_ - enough to be with him one last time. But even the mind-numbing kisses hadn't been enough to fill the void where his heart had been; even her promise of a future, of the truth he already knew - Hell, even her badly timed confession - hadn't been enough to fulfil his soul's purpose and make it worth the pain. It hadn't been enough to save him. 

So why had it been enough to save the world? Why does she wish, more often than not, that it hadn't been? 

A month down the road, she hasn't managed to forget it. Nothing works: not drinking, not sleeping - that only causes her to dream - and not trying to move on. The memory continues to plague her, even after the grieving has ceased and acceptance has come, at least in part. She can never forget how she broke his heart, and wasn't strong enough to fix it.

_To be continued..._

_**A/N:** Sorry the prologue's so short, but it was already written in lieu of an "End of Days" Counterpoint (although that may occur anyway.) No song for the prologue, but something of a theme, maybe. As I write these notes, the fic is nothing but a collection of song lyrics and a vague plan, but rest assured updates will be probably slightly more regular than they were for "Cradle". Hopefully. Anyway, kindly leave me some reviews, and I'll gladly get this thing going._

And... yes, I know, I said I wouldn't sequelise, but... gah, the Muses wouldn't shut up, and here's the result. 


	2. Chapter One: Being Alive

**BROKEN RECORD**

_**Disclaimer, etc as on first chapter  
Author's Notes:** Right. Well. Having never been out of Europe, I've never been to Cleveland, so all and any suppositions on its layout, people, buildings, etc. are my own. And completely fictional. It's a Cleveland in a mysterious and unknown state, just like Springfield. This fic will spread over a number of years, sort of in two bits, more or less, with the middle bit being a general all-encompassing 'time passing' thing. But that's a long way off yet, so here's the beginning, sort of from where we left off at the end of "Chosen". This is a long chapter, probably longer than the others, to 'situate' the fic; basically, it's pointless preamble, and it jumps back and forth a little, though hopefully not enough to be confusing. Also a first attempt at writing Andrew and Kennedy, the latter of whom I'm trying to put in a good enough light, but wow, I hate that girl; oh, this'll be interesting. =) Enjoy._

**Broken Record**

**Chapter One - Being Alive**

In the waking darkness, light birdsong drifted through the drawn curtains, gently pulling her out of a restless slumber. She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling as she'd done most of the night, every night since they'd been here, and listened for any noise that might indicate the others were up. A sliver of light escaped through a crack in the curtains, casting a white band across her bed, slicing her neatly in two like a magician's assistant in a box. Really, that was quite fitting; she'd fallen asleep curled around herself, cutting off the circulation to her legs, and they were numb. 

The house was silent. In the corner of the room, her sister's light breathing emanated from the other bed, quiet snoring penetrating the stillness. The teenager shuffled, turned over; the sheets rustled. A slight breeze caught the curtains, briefly widening the band of whiteness at her waist, and blinding sunlight caught her gaze as she looked to the window. 

_Oh, what a beautiful morning_, she thought to herself, sadly. Repressing a heavy sigh, she forced some feeling back into her legs, wincing at the sensation of stinging pins-and-needles that came when she swung her feet to the floor, and walked to the window. With one hand on the thick fabric, she paused a moment, turning to look at the back of her sibling's brunette head. It was too early, and a weekend, and this was the only peace anyone got lately. It seemed such a shame to disturb it. But there were still things to be done, too much to rebuild, too many tasks to complete and people to find, and sleeping in on a Saturday was a luxury nobody would see for a long time, yet. She turned back, steeled herself for the inevitable surge of bright sunlight, and pulled the drapes aside with a loud, satisfying 'swish'. 

Blinking as her eyes readjusted, she let out a yawn, then stifled a groan. Her bed was a mess, from hours of trying to get comfortable: the sheets all crumpled and ruffled, duvet half on the floor, and the pale pillow smudged with streaks of mascara-tears. Mr. Gordo, who had been safely shipped out of the old house along with a few other personal, irreplaceable possessions before the inevitable happened, was lying on his back on the carpet, legs in the air, flung from the bed in a moment of anguished self-pity. Her inner child guiltily made her pick him up, stroke his faux-fur back into place, and put him in back in his rightful place in the middle of the pillow. 

She left the bed in a mess, merely kicking the duvet further against it as she passed to wake the other occupant of the room. The snoring had turned into normal breathing, punctuated by sighs. Hearing her elder sister coming behind her, the younger girl buried herself further into the bedclothes, and pretended the world didn't exist. 

"Dawn…" she said, crouching to bed-level, her voice placating and weary. "Dawn, c'mon. I know you're tired, but you know how much there still is to be done." The girl-shaped mound of duvet made a point of ignoring her. "The sooner you get up, the sooner everything'll be finished and you'll get your weekends back." 

Dawn emerged, reluctantly, from her cocoon, peering at her sister with bleary eyes, her hair a mess. "Can't you just tell Giles I'm sick, Buffy? Please?" 

"With what?" 

"Work-itis?" 

Buffy wanted so desperately to crack a smile at Dawn's continued efforts to get out of doing anything, but it was starting to wear thin. Dawn didn't know the _meaning_ of tired; at least she'd managed to sleep more than an hour or two on average. If she'd had the energy, she would have pulled the duvet off her, forcing her to get up; as it was, she could barely even muster the possibility of threatening it. 

"Just get up," she said, with finality. "I want you out of bed by the time I get out of the bathroom." 

She stood, determinedly ignoring her sister's further protests, and reached for her bathrobe from the back of the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror of their shared dresser, she stopped, running a hand through her hair. No amount of showering seemed to shift the residual slickness of Hellmouth dust that had settled in it; as an afterthought, she grabbed a towel and some shampoo, before finally leaving the room. 

Dawn watched her go, then conceded defeat and dragged herself out of bed. The sunlight pouring into the room was making it seem less of a chore, and if Giles was determined for them to scout the town again for possible Hellmouth-y hotspots, at least she wouldn't freeze. Noticing the state her sister's bed was in, she felt slightly guilty for being difficult. Not even Mr. Gordo could hide the fact that she'd cried herself to sleep again. Glancing out of the window to glimpse the distant buildings of the town, Dawn felt a familiar, unwelcome yearning for everything they'd lost. Her room, the house, the highschool, the cemetery, all the various possessions accumulated over the years - reminders of family and friends, so many photographs - even the neighbours they'd barely spoken to, but knew just the same… all were gone. Acceptance had been slow to come for everyone, though Dawn had coped better than most, managing to settle into the new routine more or less instantly. 

Gone was the near-constant sunshine and winter rainstorms of Sunnydale, and in its place was the changeable and inconsistent weather of Cleveland. With everything so different, all that was left to do was to move on. That theory was taking a long time to come into practice. 

She tore her gaze from the window, and made her bed. As an afterthought, she also made Buffy's, by way of apologising. She got dressed unenthusiastically, grabbing the first thing that came to mind instead of agonising over it, and ran a brush through her hair. Once Buffy was in the shower, it was pointless even hoping she'd emerge within the hour, so Dawn made her way downstairs. 

She and Buffy were sharing one of the two larger rooms of the four-bedroomed house, the one at the front. Willow and Kennedy took the other, which overlooked the back garden. Xander and Andrew had ended up sharing the medium-sized room - "The womenfolk have more pointless junk", he'd said, letting the girls have the larger rooms - while Giles had situated himself in the small box room at the back. There were also several of the surviving Potentials - _no, Slayers_, she reminded herself - camping out in the lounge downstairs, though not permanently. 

Dawn passed Willow and Kennedy's door; there was low talking coming from within, indicating that they were both up and about. Over the past few days, Dawn and Kennedy had been getting increasingly irritated with each other; Dawn had never been on the best of terms with her in the first place, but the close quarters and Kennedy's superiority complex - which was especially heightened since she'd found her powers - meant that Dawn was struggling to be civil at the best of times. The pain of Tara's death still stung, all the more so now that there were new casualties to add to the list, and Kennedy was certainly no Tara. Friendships were beginning to strain, and the close quarters weren't helping. 

From within Giles' box room, there was silence: he was already up, doubtless chasing up the other Slayers already. The remaining bedroom was similarly quiet, but Xander and Andrew didn't really talk very much. From the bathroom, the sound of the shower and the constantly creaking pipework. They were the first two to be up, so she revelled in the relative silence for a while. 

In the kitchen, situated at the bottom of the stairs, Dawn helped herself to some cereal, munching it slowly. Down the corridor, the Slayers were waking up, chatting amongst themselves, trying to put off the inevitable task of getting up. Alone, Dawn ate her breakfast.

~*~

Buffy finished her shower and quickly dried herself off, noting with some dismay that her hair had retained its greasy finish. As she made her way back to the room, she wondered if Sunnydale would ever leave her. They'd been in Cleveland only a month or so, living out of the school bus for a week - and the four days or so spent on the road - before she and Giles had sorted out the complicated insurance process, and bought the house they were currently living in. He'd accumulated quite substantial wealth over the years, but he couldn't work miracles; luckily enough, the insurance company did pay up, which was probably partially due to the circumstances. Stories - some closer to the truth than others - had already spread about the demise of Sunnydale, and its survivors found sympathy wherever they went. 

Along with the house, they'd acquired a much larger building. It had been abandoned for years, and the council had been debating for several months exactly what to do with it; in the end, when Giles offered to take it off their hands and turn it into a 'specialist' school, they'd practically given it to him for free, especially when he said he had all the appropriate people to refurbish it. 'The appropriate people' was, of course, Xander, and the building would very soon become the world's first Slayer Training Centre. Despite the catchy title, however, it was in a secluded, woodsy area, and would be surrounded by secure gates. Only Slayers, Watchers, and associated members would know about it. They were currently in the process of finishing off the dormitories, so that the Slayers they already had could move in, and redecorating the interior; then, there began the world-wide task of seeking out the other Slayers, and finding them Watchers with which to reform the Council. Things were going to be very different now that Rupert Giles was in charge. 

Nevertheless, despite the constant looking to the future, they were all haunted by memories. Nostalgia formed the basis of nearly every late-night conversation: stories about families and friends, reminiscence about days in High School and Maggie Walsh's lectures, those they'd lost both recently and years ago, and even old, easy apocalypses, back in a time when saving the world didn't mean destroying an entire city. They'd saved what they could, but lost more than they'd ever imagined. 

The reason they were even in this place at all was what continued to plague Buffy's mind. The Champion, who saved the world, sacrificing himself so she could carry on living. She felt to blame for his sacrifice, not giving him an adequate reason to survive. As she searched mindlessly through the wardrobe for something that wasn't Dawn's - they'd all been spoiled horribly since they got here, but Buffy's heart just wasn't in it - she let her mind drift back to those final few days. 

_I was too late_, she thought. _Too late to tell him. Too late to save him._

And now, she needed him. It was as simple as that. She needed him. Even surrounded by loving friends and family - friends who were family, for all intents and purposes - she found herself unable to think, unable to function as a person with normal human emotions, without him. The fact that he was well and truly gone, never to return, hurt far more than she'd ever anticipated it would. But then, she'd never anticipated he would leave; she should have, but she hadn't. 

_'Every night I save you…'_

She'd lost count of how many nights, now, she'd had to cry herself to sleep. Her mind would wander in the dark, waking dreams brought on from sheer exhaustion. So many times, she'd brought him back; so many times, she'd saved him, dragged him from the cave, ripped the amulet from his neck and thrown it into the pit. _'Why?'_, he'd ask her, in the confused, disbelieving aftermath of safety when they were clear of the crater. 

_'Because I love you,'_ she'd say, _'and don't you dare tell me I don't mean it.'_ And then he'd hold her, so close, tight enough to suffocate her, and that would be that. It would all be over, and they'd be in this Godforsaken city together. The instantaneous realisation, night after night, that she was dreaming, hurt deeper than she'd ever imagined; she'd snap herself out of it, roll onto her side, and catch a glimpse of her sister, sleeping peacefully through the night. There was no comfort, not even from his self-confessed 'best friend'. 

She was slipping into the same reverie even now, and fought back tears, concentrating instead on brushing her hair and contemplating what Giles needed them to do. Part of her, for so long, had been numb - and wasn't that a familiar feeling, considering what had happened the year before? - and she wasn't entirely sure if she preferred the pain. Certainly, it proved she was still alive, but it made the loss more poignant. 

It was then that she noticed her bed. She smiled, suddenly overwhelmed by Dawn's simple gesture of apology, and let some tears escape. Dawn would snore all night, keep her awake even when her wandering thoughts didn't, and despite Buffy taking out most of her grief and tiredness on her first thing in the morning, she remained mature - mostly - and took it in her stride. She missed him, too; neither of them wanted to talk about it. 

She sniffed, drying her eyes, and headed downstairs.

~*~

"Y'know," he said, "I always wanted a brother." 

Xander groaned, staring steadfastly at the wall, trying to ignore Andrew's voice as it emanated from the bunk above his. "You already have a brother, Andrew. Before we knew your name, we just called you 'Tucker's brother'." 

"Oh, yeah…" A pause. "But he was older than me. I always wanted to be a twin or something, have all those psychic powers and stuff." 

Xander rolled onto his back, and hurled a pillow unceremoniously at the bottom of Andrew's mattress. "Not all twins are psychic, ya big geek." 

"Are so." 

"Are not." 

"Are _so_." 

"Are-" Xander stopped. "I can't believe I'm even arguing this. You want proof? You want me to get you some twins to run tests on?" 

Andrew leaned over, his head appearing upside down in Xander's line of vision. "Really?" 

Xander didn't even bother. He obviously wasn't going to get any more sleep now that his bunkmate was awake. The bunkbeds were an unfortunate necessity; the room wasn't quite big enough to accommodate two singles - at least, not unless the occupants wanted somewhere to move - and it wasn't entirely fair to expect Andrew to sleep in the lounge with the girls. He'd fought practically tooth and nail to acquire the top bunk, and nobody had expected any less. 

He got up, moving to the chest of drawers on the other side of the room to root through for something to wear; he distantly heard the bathroom door open and someone shuffle down the landing past their door. 

"Sounds like Buffy's done. You want first digs on the bathroom?" 

"Nah." 

Xander closed the drawer, jeans and a shirt draped over his arms as he reached for a towel. "You'd think a house with four bedrooms would have another bathroom. At the very least, a shower-room or _something_." At which point, Willow and Kennedy's door opened, and one of them ran down the corridor into the bathroom, slamming the door. He let out a sigh, midway between sympathetic and annoyed, and sat down in the overstuffed armchair that was currently occupying the room until it could fit back into the lounge. He gestured to indicate the door. "My point…" 

Andrew nodded absently and sat on the edge of his bunk, legs hanging over the ladder that provided access. "So… yeah… I'm thinking I might leave." 

"Yeah…" The blond's comment suddenly registered. "What?" Andrew shrugged, as if it was self-explanatory. "Why?" 

He shrugged again and examined his fingernails. "None of you guys really need me. You didn't really need me back in Sunnydale. I can't… train the Slayers or do magic or anything like that; I'm just taking up space. So… yeah." 

"Whoa, back up a sec, Andrew. We never said you weren't welcome." 

"You never said I was, either." 

That much was true. They'd dragged him out of the High School because it was the right thing to do; all for one and one for all, or something like that, and they weren't about to leave him behind to get devoured by the Hellmouth. When he'd joined them in the house, following them on a sort of auto-pilot, nobody had thought anything of it. He was a part of the group now, and, just like them, he had nowhere else to go. 

Xander pointed this out. "Where're you gonna go?" 

"I dunno. I guess I'll hitch a ride somewhere." By way of unnecessary explanation, he added, "I failed my Drivers' Ed." 

"Isn't this a little sudden? I mean, what, you wake up one morning and _bam!_ - you're leaving?" Andrew didn't answer, which seemed to imply it was the opposite. He'd thought about this before now. 

"I don't know why you're so worried, anyway," he said. "You'll have a room to yourself." 

The notion had occurred to Xander before now, that a room to himself would be bliss. The truth was, however, that none of them could sleep alone any more. Dawn had admitted to Giles before that Buffy's presence was comforting, that being alone only served to remind her of the previous year she'd spent without her sister and dredged nightmares of losing her to the First. Kennedy staying with Willow was a given, and nobody questioned it. And Xander, although he'd initially complained about having to share, had to admit that Andrew's company was better than nothing. His incessant babbling helped to take Xander's mind off what had happened; arguments about _Star Trek_ stopped his mind trying to fill in the blanks about what he didn't know. 

And that was another thing. Andrew claimed that she'd died saving his life, and Xander could believe that. It didn't stop him being curious as to what, exactly, had happened, but Andrew refused to tell him; he didn't want to go through it again. 

He snapped himself out of his reverie and glanced up at Andrew, who looked decidedly miserable by his own decision. "Look, Andrew… you don't have to go, okay? Just give it a few days. The girls'll be at the dorms soon and there'll be more room." 

"Thanks, Xander, but-" 

"Quit arguing. Besides…" he began, pausing. "I… I need you here, man. You're the only one who saw what… what happened to her." 

Andrew smiled, a little uncomfortably. How could he tell him that witnessing her death was one of the reasons he felt he had to leave? Xander was counting on him to, one day, give him the closure he so desperately needed; Andrew was content to forget the horrendous images that continued to plague him, day and night, but he couldn't, because he knew that, like it or not, he'd have to relive it. "Okay," he said. "I guess I'll stay." As an afterthought, he added, "Besides, it's not like any of you can cook." 

"We would indeed be lost without your culinary wizardry," Xander agreed.

~*~

Light poured into the room as she flung the curtains open, and the girl in the bed winced as her eyes struggled to adjust. She shaded her vision with one hand and glared at the silhouette at the window, which then moved to yank the bedclothes away. 

"Cut it out!" shouted the body in the bed, clinging to the duvet and tugging against her assaulter. 

"Well, aren't you a Grumpy-Pants this morning?" 

"You would be, too, if you'd been woken up like that. God, Willow, a light shaking would have been fine." 

Willow ceased the tug-o-war with the duvet and sat down at the dresser, convinced that Kennedy was awake and would stay that way. "I tried that," she said. "You're a really heavy sleeper. Maybe we should invest in an alarm clock. Y'know, one of those that shouts at you 'til you get up." 

Kennedy yawned and stretched, watching Willow brushing her hair. "Or, y'know, we could persuade Giles that normal people sleep in on weekends." 

Willow smiled, setting down the brush. "It won't be for much longer. He's just making sure, sweetie. He wants everything to be done right this time." 

"Yeah, well, does he have to be so uptight about it?" 

"He's not being uptight," she corrected, her tone irritated. Kennedy raised an eyebrow to suggest that it looked that way to her, and Willow continued, "I've known him longer than you, Kennedy. Believe me, when Giles is being uptight, you'll know about it. This is just Giles being organised and acting like the Big Boss Man. It'll pass." 

The brunette sighed. "I guess you're right…" She forced herself out of bed, pausing briefly to gaze out of the window. Over the back fence, there was much less of the town to be seen, only other streets and the woods that hid the future Training Centre. 

They'd all been to investigate the building, to decide what rooms would be used for which purpose, and it had felt like being in a fairy tale land. The dorms looked out at the level of the trees' foliage, creating the impression of being lost in a sea of dark green. The sunlight came in small patches through the leaves, casting intricate patterns on the walls and floor. All of the girls had decreed it would be wonderful to sleep there, and couldn't wait to move in. Kennedy, however, was less enthusiastic. She was older than the others, and, though she was more than willing to hone her Slayer powers, she was less willing to fall into the routine of the Training Centre. To her, it felt too much like a boarding school, and the images of strict regulations that came with that idea wasn't particularly appealing. 

She was searching through the wardrobe pondering this, when it seemed as though Willow had read her thoughts. "Besides," she said, "you're going to have to get up even earlier than this once training starts up." 

Kennedy emerged from the wardrobe and held up an outfit for approval; Willow nodded with a smile, and she set it on the bed. "I know." 

Looking thoughtful for a moment, Willow pondered how best to approach the subject she'd been thinking about for a while. She decided to just say it, hoping Kennedy would appreciate the directness. "Are you really sure you want to stay here, Kennedy? I mean, it'd be so much easier for you if you just stayed in the dorms…" 

The younger girl bristled. "_Yes_, I'm sure I want to stay here. Though I'm starting to think maybe you don't want me to." 

"I never said that-" 

"You didn't have to." She frowned. "You think I could stand to live with them?" she asked, rhetorically, gesturing randomly towards the bedroom door to represent the girls downstairs. "They're a bunch of kids!" 

Willow rose to the bait. "Oh, like you're so mature." 

"Meaning?" 

She made a 'duh' face. "Picking a fight with me for no reason? That's adult behaviour…" 

Kennedy bit back all of things she wanted to say, realising Willow was right. "Okay… Point taken. But I thought you'd want me to stay here." 

"All I suggested was that it would be easier; it wouldn't be permanent. There's always weekends and vacations, and anyway, it'd be no different if you were heading off to college or something." Off Kennedy's darkening expression, she hastily added, "And, no, I'm not suggesting that I want you to leave. It's up to you." 

"Then I'm staying here," she said, determinedly. Her tone was still defensive enough to make Willow's own more irritated than she intended. 

"Fine. Just don't expect me to wake you up. I'm not going to bail you out if you're late and Giles complains." She'd intended the final comment in jest, but it hadn't come out that way. 

"Thanks a lot," she muttered, sarcastically. 

"Look, if you want to be so mature, start acting like it. I know this is completely different to what you're used to, but this is how we live, now. Everyone has to muck in, and the sooner you accept that, the easier it'll be." 

Kennedy's eyes flashed brief anger and hurt. "It's nice to know I'm as high in your regard as everyone else's, Will," she said, her voice trembling. 

"Ken-" 

Her apology was cut off by the younger girl getting up and storming out of the room, gesturing a "don't bother" with her arm as she went. Willow heard the bathroom door slamming, and winced. She tried not to act like a fussing mother hen around Kennedy, but sometimes it was difficult to kerb the instinct, especially on mornings like this one. She was well aware that her girlfriend didn't get on with the other Slayers particularly well, if at all, and there was definitely bad air between her and Dawn these days, more so than before. She was really all Kennedy had. 

It had been so difficult to let her in, after Tara, and it wasn't the same, by any stretch of the imagination. Being with Kennedy, in a relationship that had finally managed to survive an apocalypse - the apocalypse to end all apocalypses, in fact - had to mean something. The fact that they'd both come out of it unscathed was a miracle in itself, and the experience they'd shared should have brought them closer together. With the upcoming Training Centre, however, Willow knew they'd grow apart; perhaps her suggestion that Kennedy move into the dorms had been her way of unconsciously providing an excuse. It wasn't that she _wanted_ them to lose what they had, but somehow, she could see it becoming inevitable. 

Kennedy seemed determined to make it work, where Willow found herself making suggestions that might end things for good. It made sense that she'd want to share their new life in Cleveland with her. As a Slayer, Kennedy was prepared for adventure; Willow, like Buffy, was ready for an easy, peaceful life. 

She pulled herself out of her wandering thoughts, remembering that the teenager was in the bathroom, probably feeling even less loved than during their brief argument. Heaving a sigh, Willow went to talk to her.

~*~

Dawn was still alone, even though Buffy had since come downstairs, and following her after a few minutes, both Xander and Andrew. A few of the new Slayers had meandered in to grab cereal or toast, but they had soon ventured back into the lounge. The kitchen was silent; Buffy stared into a mug of coffee that had gone cold; Xander sat reading the local newspaper, though there was nothing of interest in it; Andrew stood at the stove, making a concerted effort to feed those who had yet to emerge. 

Each was confined to their own thoughts, and the silence in the room was deafening to the point that Dawn thought she might scream. _We're alive, God dammit!_ she thought to herself. _We survived the end of the world! Nobody should be alone._ Finally, she cleared her throat, attempting to break through the invisible walls each person had built around themselves. 

"Buffy, um, the coffee isn't going to drink itself…" 

"Huh?" The Slayer looked up, meeting Dawn's gaze, and realised she'd been drifting off again. "Oh… yeah. Sorry, Dawn." She pushed the mug away from herself, its contents having become decided unappealing. "Thanks for the bed…" 

Her sister shrugged, inwardly glad the gesture had been noticed. "No big…" She glanced over to Andrew. "What's cooking, Spock?" 

"Omelettes," he told her. "Three different varieties." Despite his engrossment in the task, he didn't sound particularly enthusiastic about it. Dawn feigned interest to keep him talking; things were bad enough without the usually chipper Andrew being mopey as well. 

"Three? How come?" 

"Oh, well, see, Willow likes the cheese ones, and Kennedy likes plain. The third's for me; it's got bacon in it." 

"That's so thoughtful." 

He shrugged. "I gotta do something, right?" 

"I suppose…" 

The conversation died as soon as it had begun; Dawn was about to say something to Xander, but caught her sister's eye. Buffy shook her head, indicating that it wasn't worth the effort, but smiled to show that she understood, and appreciated the attempt to lighten the atmosphere. 

Footsteps were heard on the stairs, and a few seconds later, Willow emerged, followed by Kennedy. The latter's eyes were puffy, and the two were avoiding eye-contact. Xander looked up as they entered the kitchen, caught sight of Kennedy, and sighed; he locked eyes with Willow, who silently pleaded for him not to ask. Instead, he put down the paper, and avoided the subject entirely. "The Masterchef has your breakfasts all ready, ladies." 

Andrew served up the two omelettes. "They're not very good." 

"I'm sure they're fine," Willow reassured him, digging in. Kennedy prodded hers with a fork, but made no further effort to eat it. "You should eat something." 

"I'm not hungry," she said. 

Willow bit her tongue, stopping herself from saying that it would have been polite after Andrew made the effort. They'd already had one argument; she couldn't cope with another one. Xander broke the awkward silence by reaching over to take Kennedy's plate. 

"Well, if you don't want it, I'll give it a good home…" 

"Knock yourself out." 

Andrew served up the final omelette for himself. There was no more room around the kitchen table, so he leant against the countertop. "Buffy," he asked, "what time's Mr. Giles coming back?" 

She glanced at the clock. "I'm not sure. He said he'd be up early to sort out the paperwork and stuff up at the STC, but he didn't give me a specific time. I don't think he'll be much longer." Smiling, she corrected him a little. "And you don't have to call him 'Mr.' Giles, Andrew. You're one of us, now. I'm sure he won't mind you calling him just 'Giles' like the rest of us." 

"Yeah, he's still like the librarian to me," he explained. "He always scared me a little, actually. He was all stuffy and British." 

Willow laughed. "Yeah, he kinda scared us for a while, too." 

"At least he's given up the tweed," added Xander. 

"Oh, God," said Buffy, remembering, "and all those comments about us mangling the language. It didn't take him long to pick up on it." 

The three friends all laughed at the memories, exchanging old anecdotes, while Dawn sat back and basked in the warm glow the kitchen had since acquired. The loving banter of friends was preferable to the horrible silence. Some memories needed a darkened room and individual torment; others thrived on the energy of many. Andrew, although he hadn't been part of their group, reminisced along with them, revelling in the nostalgia of old teachers and school bullies. Soon, all five of them were giggling, having run out of stories to tell, each one lost in their own personal memory. 

As the laughter died down, Xander wiped a tear from his eye and said "Oh, man. Good times, huh, guys?" 

"Yeah," said Willow. "Good times." 

The joy became bittersweet, as reality struck once more; the High School, along with everything else, was dead and buried, and memories were all that remained. Never before had the past seemed so far away. 

Throughout all of this, Kennedy had been fuming quietly to herself, her arms folded across her chest as she watched Willow and her friends reminiscing. Nobody had acknowledged her presence, nor even attempted to bring her into the conversation; true, she hadn't been a Sunnydale student, but that didn't mean she was devoid of her own memories. She pushed her chair back and got to her feet, the wood clattering against the kitchen tiles as she did so, causing everyone to look up. 

"Kennedy?" asked Willow, confused. "Where are you going?" 

"To leave you to your little family reunion…" she said, and stalked out of the room. Willow briefly debated going after her, but decided it was ultimately futile. It was easier to let her get it out of her system and talk to her tomorrow. She was attention-seeking, though Willow hated to acknowledge it, forcing her to care and be the one to fix things. But sooner or later, Kennedy had to learn that life wasn't like that any more, and now seemed as good a time to start learning than any. 

The former students of Sunnydale High - in both of its incarnations - sat quietly at the kitchen table, Andrew having taken Kennedy's seat. Things were different these days; gone was the routine and familiarity of the first Hellmouth, and in its place was uncertainty, the uncharted territory of the second. There were Slayers to train, a house to decorate, and five separate lives to lead. The prospect was terrifying, yet liberating, but they had each other. They'd survived. They were going to survive again, together.

_To be continued…_

_**A/N:** Hmm. I'm not entirely happy with the end of the chapter, since it means I'll have to do even more explaining in the second one. Nevertheless, it sets the scene, and now you know vaguely what's going on, though it will become clearer later on. This one's going to be a challenge and a half, I can tell you, especially seeing as the songs are only to set the mood rather than dictate the entire chapter. Ah, well. We'll see. It'll get better, honest. Review, if you would be so kind... Lyrics and credits follow._

**Being Alive**

Somebody, hold me too close  
Somebody, hurt me too deep  
Somebody, sit in my chair  
And ruin my sleep  
And make me aware of being alive

Somebody, need me too much  
Somebody, know me too well  
Somebody, pull me up short  
And put me through Hell  
And give me support for being alive  
Make me alive  
Make me alive  
Make me confused  
Mock me with praise,  
Let me be used  
Vary my days,  
But alone is alone, not alive.

Somebody, hold me too close  
Somebody, force me to care  
Somebody, make me come through  
I'll always be there  
As frightened as you of being alive  
Being alive, being alive

Someone you have to let in  
Someone whose feelings you spare  
Someone who, like it or not  
Will want you to share a little, a lot of being alive  
Make me alive, make me confused  
Mock me with praise, let me be used  
Vary my days, but alone is alone, not alive

Somebody, crowd me with love  
Somebody, force me to care  
Somebody, make me come through  
I'll always be there  
As frightened as you to help us survive  
Being alive, being alive,  
Being alive, being alive.

(from _Company_; lyrics by Stephen Sondheim) 


	3. Chapter Two A: I Think It's Going To Rai...

**BROKEN RECORD**

_**Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.  
Author's Notes:** First off: to SilverRain4 - thanks for the info on Cleveland. Nice to know I wasn't miles off with my suppositions. I think, however, I'll stick to it being a sort of fictionalish Cleveland, and those from the area can apply that how they like - maybe the Scoobs could have moved into Shaker Heights, hm? I think I was planning on there being snow at some point, so at least that won't be way off the mark._

Incidentally, if anybody's interested, I've drawn something of a floorplan of the S.T.C. Yes, I am a big geek… but if anyone wants to see it, let me know in a review and I'll put the address for it somewhere…

Well, it seems as though all the chapters are going to be fairly long, if the first is anything to go by; this one is hideously long, for which I apologise. And, yes, the plot will start to take form eventually. This one's really another situating chapter, though it has a little more point than the last one, and I quite like the opening section. Here's my first plug for Katie Melua (even though the song was technically first sung by Bette Midler, I believe…) - go and buy her album. I'm serious! Anyway. Enjoy…

**Broken Record**

**Chapter Two - I Think It's Going To Rain Today  
(Part A)**

Upon first seeing the building that was to accommodate the new Slayers, Dawn was decidedly sceptical about it. It was a shell, buried deep in the darkest woods she'd ever seen, and it hadn't seen human life for what seemed like centuries. She'd read _Jane Eyre_; it reminded her of Lowood, the school where the heroine had spent the latter half of her childhood. The entire place needed rewiring, which meant they'd first explored it bearing torches, and wearing bright yellow safety helmets, just in case.

Giles took them there a day or so after he'd purchased it, hoping to raise Buffy's spirits a little with the prospect of training new Slayers. Xander had accompanied them so he could oversee what needed to be done to rectify the place, and Willow and Andrew had both tagged along out of curiosity; Dawn only went because her sister did. Kennedy had been left in charge back with the other Slayers, armed with videos and popcorn. It was early evening when they'd left; by the time they got there, night was just starting to fall, dark blue sky emerging through the trees.

The front doors, at least, had remained intact, locked with a heavy padlock and a chain. Inside, there was a hallway from the front to the back, lined on each wall by three doors. At the far end was another set of doors, flanked on either side by two imposing-looking staircases leading up to the top floor. The house was symmetrical and almost square. At the back of the building there was a patio space, with a few steps leading down onto a small, overgrown lawn area, which was only cut off from the surrounding forest by hedges. A gate in the end hedge was the only exit.

All of the rooms on the ground floor were empty, but they were each large enough to accommodate the various purposes Giles had already assigned for them. One was to be a gym, another the kitchen, next to that, the dining area; on the other side, there were to be two seminar rooms and a basic laboratory. One of the front rooms on the ground floor was going to be partitioned into two, and the smaller section would house an office and reception area.

The entire of the upper floor was to be dormitories, bathrooms and a social room for the girls. Each of the two flights of stairs opened into its own corridor, along which were situated a variety of rooms. On the outer edges of the building were four equally-sized rooms each side; six of the total were to be dorms, the other two, bathrooms. In the middle, between the two corridors, sat three more rooms, but these were to be knocked into one, forming the common room. This soon-to-be common room also accommodated the entrance to the attic, but that had proved too unsafe to investigate.

It would certainly look very grand when it was refurbished and decorated. For the moment, however, it was looking rather shabby, the old architecture apparent through the layers of dust. All of the walls - corridors included - were wood-panelled from the floor to halfway up, the upper sections covered in peeling wallpaper. The roof needed to be fixed. The floors were intact, though the varnish on the boards had seen better days, and the rotting, old rugs definitely had to go. Crates were dotted around, discarded from whenever the previous owners vacated the premises.

Dawn shuddered as they stood outside, waiting for Giles to remove the padlock; the building had a certain aura about it, and she was suddenly very glad she hadn't turned out to be a Potential. She doubted she'd be able to live comfortably in a place like this. Her feeling of foreboding only increased once they got inside. The doors creaked painfully as Buffy and Xander pushed them open, and the dwindling light illuminated clouds of disturbed dust.

"So," said Giles, once he'd stopped coughing, "what do we think?" He was met by a series of incredulous glances, and more coughing. "All right. I admit it's not exactly… homely, but-"

"This place is a dump," decreed Dawn, wiping the dust-induced tears from her eyes.

Xander raised a hand. "I'm with her."

"Now, don't shoot it down without a fair trial," said Giles. "All it needs is a little work..." As if on cue, something overhead thumped, dislodged by the disturbance caused to the foundations. "…And some modifications."

Buffy raised an eyebrow, seeming more like herself for a moment. "Giles, this place is barely habitable. You expect to train Slayers in here? You're probably more likely to kill them…"

Presented with such a negative response, Giles' initial enthusiasm was starting to wane a little, his smile wavering. Two of the group had yet to pass judgement, however. Andrew was standing nonchalantly behind the others, his hands in his pockets. Giles gave him a questioning expression, and he shrugged.

"I like it," he said. "It's kinda like a haunted house, only without the ghosts." His face suddenly more animated, he was struck with a thought. "It's not haunted, is it? Because that'd be cool…"

Giles smirked. "Not as far as I know. If it is, then the estate agent neglected to tell me."

"That'd be just our luck…" muttered Dawn, though she didn't say anything else. Buffy's expression said it all: they had enough ghosts as it was, without the building being haunted.

Willow was crouching on the floor, running a finger through the thick dust. Then, she stood, making her way to the walls, where she placed her palm against the panelling. Everyone watched her with interest. After a few moments, she turned back to face the group. "I can work here," she stated. "The surrounding energy… it's positive. If there _is_ a Hellmouth in this city, I'd bet it's nowhere near here."

Xander heaved a sigh of relief, as Giles began to hand out torches. "Hardly a unanimous vote, but I'm afraid there's no changing it. Here. Explore."

So, they did, splitting into smaller groups. Giles and Xander stayed where they were for the time being, so the latter could thoroughly examine each room in turn. Buffy and Willow headed off along the ground floor corridor to investigate the back of the house and the garden, while Andrew went upstairs. Dawn protested, refusing to go with him, and stood her ground at the bottom of the stairs.

"This is dumb," she said, to anyone that could hear. "We're not in an episode of _Scooby Doo_, guys. Let's just…" Her sentence trailed off as she realised the corridor had gotten very dark, the dwindling light from the flashlights finally disappearing into the murk. She tried not to let it get to her; at sixteen, to be afraid of the dark was somewhat silly. However, with barely any natural light entering the building because of the woods, and the permeating dust bearing down on her, the darkness began to feel incredibly stifling, the walls she could barely see beginning to close in.

Panicking, she got to her feet and ran up the stairs, hoping to find Andrew on the upper floor. It was only marginally brighter up there. Her heartbeat was deafening in her own ears, her footsteps exaggerated. A bird flew past the window, making her jump, and something else in the attic became dislodged, falling above her head with a crunch.

"Not haunted," she told herself. "Not haunted. Not haunted…" She looked over the banister at the top of the staircase, seeing only blackness beneath her, and shuddered. "Okay. Okay. It's just a spooky old house in a big, dark wood. There's nothing-" Footsteps. Footsteps that sounded _far_ too heavy to be Andrew. _Where the Hell is he, anyway?_ Dawn's breathing quickened to such an extent she thought she'd hyperventilate, and she moved away from the staircase, further into the left-hand corridor. That turned out to be a bad idea. It was completely deserted - no sign of Andrew, but Dawn tried not to dwell on that - and thoroughly dark except for the edge of a large, round window that sat in the end wall, at the front of the house. Figuring some light was better than no light, she made her way, trepidacious, towards the window's vague grey-blueness.

Once, it must have been some kind of focal point; now, there were panes missing, and the paint on the frame was cracked and peeling, stained green with damp and moss, though it had once been white. Dawn positioned herself near to it, poking her head out through one of the gaps. She could see Giles' car parked in front of the building, and the dirt track they'd taken to get there as it weaved its way back into the forest. To the left and right, there was nothing but a sea of imposing trees, utterly obliterating the city's lights. At least if she stayed here, she'd see them when they left and could get someone to come and find her.

She sighed. This was turning out to be incredibly un-fun. Craning her neck to look up, she noticed that the sky was still darkening, streaky grey clouds filling it. It didn't help matters in the slightest, with the sight of the decidedly spooky full moon, part-obliterated by wispy cloud. As if she didn't feel like she was in a horror movie already. It had been a fairly pleasant day in terms of weather, but by the looks of things, they'd be facing rain tomorrow.

At that point, someone tapped her on the shoulder. With a start, she spun around to face the person. Then, she screamed.

Andrew shrieked, and dropped the torch, his features no longer being under-lit, then scrabbled for it. Dawn's scream trailed off into a groan; as Andrew recovered their light source, she kicked him sharply in his shin.

"Ow! Hey…"

"Where the Hell were you, doofus?"

"_I_ was exploring," he said, pointedly, "like Mister Giles told us to. Where were _you_, hm?"

Dawn glowered at him. "Getting scared out of my wits, no thanks to you."

"Sorry," he said. "But you have to admit, that was kinda funny…" The glare he received in response told him that she didn't think so. "Y'know, this place is cool. I'm beginning to wish I was a Slayer, too."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad I don't have to live here," she said. "Come on. I wanna go find Buffy…"

With that, she snatched the torch from Andrew and led the way determinedly back towards the stairs. Her blond companion followed, dejected. "You're no fun," he muttered.

Dawn stopped in her tracks and turned around, shining the beam into his face. "No fun?" she echoed, rhetorically. "Andrew, I am so far beyond 'no fun', it doesn't bear thinking about." He didn't say anything, surprised by her threatening tone. Dawn continued in her diatribe, realising she had a captive, if not entirely willing, audience. "I mean, _look_ at this place! I know, it's the best Giles could do, but… God, everyone's so hung up on looking to the future, training the Slayers, being ready for the next big evil. But you know what? I don't care. We lost our _home_. We lost _everything_. And everyone's being so… so good, and so kind, and giving us things and trying to make it right, but it's _nothing_. It's just words, and possessions, and things to take our minds off the past. It's worthless."

She stopped, running out of things to say. After a pause, Andrew opened his mouth cautiously, and said, "What's your point?"

Dawn let out a frustrated scream. "My _point_, Andrew, is that maybe I don't want to move on just yet. Maybe I'm not ready. Maybe _Buffy_'s not ready; anyone ever think of that? Giles is so wrapped up in doing the best he can for everyone, and… and maybe all we need is time to grieve." She paused, then added, partially to herself, "She hasn't even had time to cry…"

Understanding, Andrew placed a hand awkwardly on her shoulder. "Nor've you," he said. "Or Xander. And, I mean, I'm still sorta shocked I'm even alive…"

Dawn offered a weak smile, grateful for the effort. "I think we all are…"

"But… I think Giles is doing the best thing. He just wants everything to be finished, and that won't happen if everybody's too busy crying and moping… right?"

"Right… I guess," she agreed, reluctantly.

"You'll see," said Andrew. "Once this place is up and running, I bet everything'll return to normal."

Dawn nodded to appease him, and he let her lead the way back downstairs, where the voices of Buffy and Willow could be heard, distantly. In her heart, though, she knew that nothing would ever be normal again, despite the fact that Buffy didn't have to be the Slayer any more. The Training Centre would undoubtedly take up most of Giles' time, possibly to the extent that nobody would ever see him, and he'd probably want Buffy's help to train the girls.

Normality, Dawn decided, was severely underrated.

~*~

Within a week or so, the dormitories at the Training Centre were very nearly completed. The entire group were up at the Centre: the girls were all upstairs, finishing the decorating and arguing over who got to sleep where, despite the fact there were no beds in there yet, and the Scoobies, Kennedy and Giles were down in what would become the latter's office, sitting on crates as they discussed other matters. Giles held a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other, ticking off points on his agenda as they talked.

"So," he said, "once the decorating is done and the beds are in, I suggest we start work on the classrooms." Several nods greeted his suggestion. "The training rooms are probably the most vital areas that need work; the seminar rooms can wait a while yet, so long as they're at least reasonably comfortable."

"Yes, sir," said Xander, saluting.

"I have another suggestion, Giles," interjected Buffy. He nodded a 'go ahead'. "While all this work's being done up here, that house is still in _dire_ need of some personal touches. Someone should stay back there and get everything back in place once the girls are out."

"I quite agree," he said. "Andrew, you-"

"Andrew?!" The admonition came from all of the collected Scoobies, and Giles gave them a questioning expression. It was Dawn who provided an explanation.

"No offence to him or anything, but it's not like he knows us that well… I mean, c'mon, the place is gonna end up filled with _Star Wars_ dolls or something."

"They're not dolls, they're collectables," muttered Andrew, indignant. "And, hey, I wouldn't do that."

"Actually," said Giles, returning to the point, "I was only going to say he should move the furniture back." He took in Andrew's slight build. "But I'm beginning to rethink that idea." With a sigh, he rubbed his brows with finger and thumb. "All right, everyone help with the furniture; beyond that, it'll be a matter of time. This place" - here, he gestured with his head to encompass the building - "is our top priority right now."

There were various murmurs of acknowledgement. The meeting progressed in much the same manner for at least another hour, before Giles released everybody for lunch and drove into town to pick up coffees and sandwiches for the assembled troops.

They'd settled in nicely in Cleveland; the people were friendly, and understanding, and, like in Sunnydale, utterly oblivious to the fact that there was a bubbling Hellmouth beneath their feet. There'd been a problem at first in explaining why there were so many residents in the house; eventually, Giles had settled on telling people that the Slayers were all international students who had escaped the High School during the Sunnydale 'accident', and that he was in the process of finding them somewhere else to live. This had provoked many local people to offer them lodgings; they'd all refused. After living in such close quarters for so long, they'd all gotten very close, and the idea of being separated was decidedly unappealing. It was bad enough that they'd end up getting split into two dormitories, (including a third and a fourth, to house the Slayers that had yet to be found) but at least they'd all be together.

The atmosphere at the house - it was still strange to think of it as 'home' - was mostly amicable. The survivors were still recovering from their various experiences, though Giles seemed to be coping the best. He had no other choice; they'd never needed his guidance more than they did now. He had all number of tasks ahead of him. He'd decided several months ago that once it was all over, he'd reform the Council of Watchers from whatever surviving original members, as well as seeking out new Watchers to guide the Slayers once they'd completed their training.

Currently, the Training Centre had no principal. The job had been offered to Robin Wood, and he had accepted, but for the moment, his task was to find the other Slayers. He'd taken Faith along with him, partly as a surprise, to show her the world, and partly for demonstration purposes. It was inevitable that some of the Slayers would be confused, perhaps even scared, by their new powers, and their families would be worried. A lot of the girls were no older than ten, and the eldest was only fourteen, as Willow's locator spell and internet hack had informed them. Faith was there to show the kind of potential they had, and what they might aspire to be. It was entirely impractical, however, to expect all of the Slayers to wait until Robin had found the final one of them and returned, because it was a task that could take months, even years; there were God-only-knew how many unborn Slayers that might emerge in the world. Training them all would prove to be a lifetime's work, and Giles needed all the help he could get. As it stood at the moment, however, Giles would be acting principal - or, as he preferred to be called, refusing to give in to Americanism, 'headmaster' - until such time as Robin could take up the job.

The training itself would be based on physical exercise and fighting techniques, as well as seminars on basic demonology, weaponry, and the use of magic in Slaying. The last of these was to be led by Willow, since it was her power that had released the energy of the Slayers. Her magic had helped Buffy immensely over the years, and Giles intended to make use of it in the future as well. His hope was that Willow might be responsible for organising such teaching.

Yes, things were going to be very different now that Rupert Giles was in charge. No more archaic tests and strict rules; the new Council was going to be more laid-back and helpful, rather than enigmatic and difficult.

He'd hurled himself into the Training Centre, but through it, he was well aware of the moods of Buffy and her friends. The journey to Cleveland in the school bus had been silent, for the most part, each of them lost to their thoughts. It was ridiculous to expect them to forget everything or put it behind them, so he let them recover. Xander was putting on a brave face, as usual, but he hadn't even mentioned her name since the incident.

Remembering, Giles took a sharp intake of breath. _Oh, Anya…_ He didn't know what had happened to her, just that she hadn't made it out; there hadn't been time to question it during the escape, and it didn't seem appropriate to ask as the final rocks fell into the crater. Andrew was the only one who knew, and he seemed determined to forget about it. Giles hoped, for Xander's sake, that Andrew would eventually feel up to recounting what had happened; it wasn't healthy to keep something like that bottled up.

Willow seemed to be adjusting well after the power she'd experienced, and was determined, more than ever, to keep it under control. Dawn was subdued, still somewhat in shock from learning what had caused the crater to form, and relieved beyond measure that her sister had made it out alive.

Buffy, however, seemed to be the worst off out of all of them. She put on a brave face - as brave as she could, at least - in front of everyone, but when she thought nobody was paying attention, she'd soon let her smile falter. Giles had caught sight of her once, sitting alone in her and Dawn's room, staring out of the window; watching her, he felt as though his heart might break. He'd never seen her so lost. She cried, but her tears were silent, because she knew as soon as she let the dam break completely, she'd never be able to stop. She was broken inside, a vital piece of her missing, and Giles was utterly unable to help.

Perhaps, he pondered in the car, he wasn't supposed to… Perhaps the only one who could help Buffy was Buffy herself.

~*~

Upon his return, bearing sandwiches, snacks and beverages, Giles found the Scoobies scattered around the building. Xander was measuring up in what was to be one of the seminar rooms, with the help of Andrew and Dawn. He was determined that his 'accident' at Caleb's hand wasn't going to stop him doing what he did best, though his depth perception was slightly awry.

Dawn noticed Giles' entrance before the other two, and she immediately forgot what she was doing. "Is that lunch? Please let that be lunch."

"It is," he said, amused by the outburst.

"Thank _God_."

Andrew dropped the end of the metal tape measure he was holding, causing it to whip back into the holder. Xander, holding onto the other end, let it go just as fast. The entire thing fell to the floorboards with a clatter, and Andrew winced, expecting punishment of some kind. "Sorry…"

Xander frowned, but soon shrugged it off. "It's okay. Just be more careful; you could have someone's eye out. And trust me, it's not as fun as it sounds."

His comment was succeeded by a somewhat awkward silence; nobody had quite gotten used to his 'one-eyed-man' jokes, the horror of the situation that caused it still fresh in their minds. Xander was taking it in his stride, trying to make everyone as fine with it as he was, but wasn't yet being very successful.

Breaking the silence by clapping his hands together, he said, "So. Sandwiches."

"Yes, sandwiches," agreed Giles, suddenly remembering why he was there. "Take your pick."

The three of them rummaged through the carrier bag and dug out their favourites and a bottle of water each, then settled down on three of the apparently endless supply of old crates to eat. "Thankth Gilef," muttered Dawn through a mouthful of bread.

He smiled - it looked like there were some things she'd never grow out of - and headed off to find the others. Luckily, with the building being carpet-less, the task was made slightly easier; all he had to do was listen for distant footsteps or thumps and follow the noise. The majority of the raucousness seemed to be coming from the upper floor, where the girls were decorating, so he made his way up there, figuring that he'd probably pass the others on the way.

When he got up there, he had to admit that the room was starting to look impressive. The walls, freshly painted, were far more cheerful now that they'd had a lick of paint, and Molly seemed to have taken it upon herself to create some kind of mural along the window wall, to complement the forest setting outside. The other would-be dormitories were still sporting their recently re-plastered walls, yet to be painted. The floorboards were covered in drops of spilled paint… as were most of the Slayers. It seemed that a paint-fight had ensued at some point.

The girls stopped what they were doing as Giles cautiously entered the room, not wanting to get caught in any kind of crossfire. They assembled in the middle of the room, dropping paintbrushes into cans and setting down rollers and paint-trays.

"Hi, Mr. Giles," said Vi, wiping her hands on her jeans. The others waved and greeted him in a similar manner, and he went further into the room.

"Sustenance," he explained, holding up the second bag and handing it to them. They shared out its contents and stood around to eat, as he added, "Do you plan on leaving enough paint to cover the rest of the rooms, or is it all going to be ammunition?"

His tone was jovial, but the girls looked guiltily at the various coloured splodges on themselves and the floor. "Sorry," said Rona. "We got bored."

Molly swallowed her bite of sandwich. "I tried to tell 'em not to, Mr. Giles," she said, indignantly. "I'm just glad none of it ended up on the mural."

"Indeed," he agreed, "and very nice it is, too."

Molly beamed. "Thought it might brigh'en the place up a bit."

Giles nodded. "Quite." After an empty pause, he asked, "Um, has anyone seen Buffy or Willow around?"

Vi started waving her arm around frantically, gesticulating that she did, but was unable to say anything due to having a mouth full of bread and cheese. When she'd eventually managed to swallow it, she stopped waving, and said, "I just saw Willow. She and Kennedy are checking out one of the seminar rooms."

"Ah. Thank you." He turned to go, calling "Enjoy your lunch, girls," over his shoulder, and headed down a level. He made his way to the larger of the rooms, noting that the door was closed. As he got closer, the muffled sounds of an argument could be heard; briefly, he debated whether or not it was polite to intervene, but seeing as he hadn't yet found Buffy, there was little else he could do. Knocking tentatively, he waited for the raised voices to die down, and Willow to open the door.

"Oh, hey, Giles," she said. He looked past her into the room. Benches had already been installed, though the desks had yet to be put together, so the room looked to be full of bleachers. Kennedy was sitting about halfway up, staring defiantly out of the window, refusing to look at Willow.

"Am I interrupting-?"

"No," she interjected, hastily. "Nope. Not interrupting." There was a lengthy pause, then she asked, "So… did you want something?"

"Oh, um. Yes. Here." He handed her two randomly selected sandwiches from the bag, which she took. "And there was something I wanted to ask you."

"Oh, okay…" She removed herself from her entrance-blocking position in the doorway, allowing him to move past her. Willow called Kennedy, who pointedly ignored both her and Giles, but took the sandwich that was proffered nonetheless. Willow and Giles sat on the bottom bench, and the former tucked into her lunch.

Giles cleared his throat, and began a lengthy run-up to his question. "I hope you don't think I'm being too presumptious, but… you know part of the plan for this place was to teach the girls about magic…" Willow nodded. "Well, I was wondering if you wanted to… perhaps… have a hand in it?"

She raised a curious eyebrow. "How so?" Kennedy's ears pricked up, and she moved down to a lower bench to listen in.

"Nothing too complex," he said. "At least, for starters. I just thought you could teach the girls about why magic can and should be used during Slaying. It's important for them to know how to use all the resources available to them, and that includes magical practices." When Willow said nothing, he continued, "And if that's successful, I was thinking you might be able to teach them some spells. Nothing too dangerous, of course. Just… locator spells, invisibility, and the like."

Willow munched thoughtfully on her sandwich, pondering it. "Wow, Giles… I mean, I'm flattered that you trust me enough to ask, but… Can I think on it?"

"Of course," he said, though he had a feeling she'd accept the offer. He glanced to Kennedy; she was smiling, happy that, if Willow took up the offer, they'd be spending more time together. Seeing that Willow was clearly overwhelmed by the prospect, he got to his feet to give her time. "I don't suppose you've seen Buffy, have you?"

"What?" Snapping out of her reverie, Willow tried to remember. "Oh, uh… I think I saw her out back a while ago."

"Right. Thank you."

~*~

She stood, leaning against the creaking doorframe, and watched the sunlight patterns dancing on the grass. Above her, from the new, open windows, the shrieks and giggling of the girls as they decorated filtered down, but other than that, it was silent. There was no traffic for miles, and barely any planes overhead. There was really no reason for her to be there; she had nothing to do, but Giles had insisted on holding their morning meeting in the new building rather than at the house.

Ordinarily, Buffy would have been more than willing to help out with the decorating, or work with Xander and Dawn. The only problem was, she was feeling decidedly unwell; she'd woken up exhausted, as usual, but with a strange queasiness that, while it had dwindled slightly over the hours, had prevented her having breakfast. Her stomach rumbled, making her feel momentarily worse.

The screaming from the upper floor ceased for a few moments, and she heard Giles' muffled voice as he brought the girls their lunch. It had been clear for a while that they weren't spending the majority of their time actually doing any decorating - especially if the irate cry of "That was my favourite shirt!" was anything to go by - and she could only imagine what state they were in. Beneath the coveralls, there were brand new designer fashions, evidence of their being spoiled, but they probably looked a complete mess now.

Then again, Buffy could hardly complain; she felt the exact opposite. Her outfit was fashionable enough, not as expensive as Giles would have allowed - though he'd been pleased at her sensible underspending in that regard - and, she had to admit, looked good on her. But somehow, it felt like an empty, pointless indulgence. Who was she dressing up for, anyway? Herself? Her friends? The entire goddamn universe, just to prove she was okay? Her brain was packed so full of reasons and explanations, rehearsed lines, instructions on how to smile, anything to keep her mind occupied, she felt like Dorothy's scarecrow. She was full to the brim with the whole wide world, feeling like everything was coming out of her ears and bearing down on her at the same time.

Her stomach churned again, and she winced. She really should have had some breakfast. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a good night's sleep, either.

No. That was a lie. She could. There were three nights before the battle, when, in the midst of panic and exhausted planning, she'd finally found some peace. Tears stung her eyes; she clamped her eyelids shut in an attempt to stop the torrent she knew would flow. She wasn't allowed to cry. She wasn't allowed not to be okay.

Behind her, the door creaked open. Hastily, she wiped her eyes to catch any stray tears, and turned to see who was there.

"Hey, Giles." She attempted to sound cheerful and pleased to see him.

Despite her best efforts, though, he could tell straight away what was wrong. He wanted to offer her comfort, but knew nothing would help, so instead, he broached a different subject entirely. "I brought you some lunch, if you're feeling better."

"Thanks," she said, taking the sandwich. The sight of it made her queasy again, but she bravely fought down the first bite, finding the rest of it easier as she carried on. She sat down on the bottom step. "So," she ventured, "how's it going in there?"

Giles sat beside her, finally managing to eat his own lunch. "Just fine, it seems. Though we may end up having to buy more paint if the girls persist in hurling it at each other." She smiled, not feeling it in the slightest, but knowing it was a better response than nothing. "And I asked Willow how she felt about teaching."

"Oh? What'd she say?"

"I've given her time to think it over," he said. "She seemed quite pleased."

"I'll bet. I hope she does take it up. The girls seem to like her." Giles nodded in agreement, sipping his coffee. "I suppose you'll be training them, yourself? I mean, it'd keep it 'in the family' if you did."

He thought about it. "Possibly, yes. I was hoping Faith might volunteer, but since she's gallivanting around the world with Robin, that's out of the question. I may have to bite the bullet and hire someone from outside…"

Buffy looked incredulous. It was going to be hard enough trying to keep the Training Centre a secret without bringing in any more strangers; the potential Watchers didn't really count, since there were plenty of trustworthy non-Council people that Giles already knew. "What? Giles, are you sure about that?"

"It may be the only option," he said. "Unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Well, unless… unless _you_ want to train them, Buffy."

"No," she said, without even thinking. "Definitely not."

"Won't you even consider it?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, but no. I'm not even remotely qualified enough, and… and I really think they've had enough of my ordering them around." Giles looked disappointed, trying to understand her reasoning. He knew there had to be more to it. Eventually, she said, "Seven years, Giles. Seven years of nothing but Slaying, training, fighting evil, leading people… I just… I can't do it any more. The torch has been passed."

He nodded, comprehending. "All right." Offering a compromise, he suggested, "but might I call on your services for the sake of demonstration?" Off her questioning expression, he explained, "At least until Faith's returned. I'll need something to actually show the girls so they've got something to work towards."

That idea wasn't appealing to Buffy, either, but Giles was in a tricky position. Reluctantly, she agreed. "Oh… fine. But only until Faith comes back, okay?"

He smiled. "Good. Thank you." Silence then descended, and the ex-Slayer and her Watcher ate their lunch in silence, sipping from coffee that had since gone lukewarm. Conversation had been difficult for a while, and they'd never really spoken about the trust issues between them. Buffy wanted to make amends, but she was also too stubborn to admit that, at least some of the time, she'd been wrong. Giles, on the other hand, while willing to apologise for her sake, wasn't entirely sure he should. Surviving had made everybody re-evaluate themselves and each other, so they'd put it behind them without talking it through. In retrospect, it wasn't such a good idea.

Giles finished his sandwich before her, and got to his feet. Buffy was chewing through her lunch very slowly, still obviously feeling ill, but knowing she had to eat something. Her mind was clearly elsewhere, as she apparently hadn't noticed him moving.

"Well," he said, breaking through her reverie, "I'd better go and check on Xander and his two assistants." Buffy looked up and nodded in acknowledgement. "Try to eat all of that, if you can. It'll probably make you feel better."

"Yes, _Dad_," she said, jokingly, the greater truth behind the expression lingering in the back of her mind. As he turned to re-enter the building, she called him back. "Oh, and Giles?"

"Yes?"

"When you lecture those Slayers…" She paused, debating whether or not to continue. Biting the bullet, she continued. "When you lecture them, make sure you warn them not to fall for the enemy. Under any circumstances."

Her tone was jovial, but the warning held serious, regretful undertones. "I will," he said. "Just as I'll tell them how important it is to get along with their Watchers." He stopped a moment. She'd opened up, just a little, but not enough that he could help her. "But remember, Buffy… Angel was a special case…"

With that, he escaped. They both knew Angel wasn't whom she'd meant with her comment, but he was a far safer topic. Buffy, unable to decide whether to be utterly incredulous at his final words, or merely upset that he'd missed the opportunity for them to talk, stared at the closed doors, and remembered a time when the mention of Angel's name had caused her heart to break repeatedly. She searched for that feeling again, and came up with nothing, just a mild annoyance that he'd had to appear at the vineyard in the first place. If he hadn't come, with that damned amulet, then maybe…

And there, she forced her thoughts to stop. Blaming Angel would become blaming herself, like she'd blamed Giles before, like she'd blamed Fate constantly. _Angel's still here,_ she thought, trying to be positive, _and at some point, someone has to tell him what happened. We're all still here. We're all… Oh, God…_

Her memory defied her at every turn.

_To be continued..._

_**A/N:** This is not the whole chapter, just so you know. But it was looking to be ridiculously long, so I had to cut it into two bits. The lyrics of the song it's based on will appear at the end of part B, and you'll see how difficult it was for me to actually get them into the story... I'm beginning to think maybe this whole song-chapter-fic thing wasn't such a good plan. ;)_

Just a point of some interest: in the section where Buffy's in the garden, before Giles comes to talk to her, the strange imagery describing her mental state is borrowed not only from the lyrics (as you'll see below) but from a Judy Garland film whose title escapes me. BBC1 showed a programme where Lorna Luft was talking about her, and there was a clip from said film, with a quote that went something like: "No, I couldn't possibly drink any more coffee. If you want to give me coffee, you're going to have to find a vein and inject it. I'm full to the brim with the whole wide world." Which is probably wrong, but… it was something like that, and it cried out to be used. So, bizarre imagery, explained.

So, as I said, there's more to this chapter. In the meantime, leave me some reviews. I know it's rambling and boring; it'll get more interesting... 


	4. Chapter Two B: I Think It's Going To Rai...

**BROKEN RECORD**

_**Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.  
A/N:** Thanks for the feedback; glad people are actually finding this, since it's getting buried almost as soon as I update. Just a note for Charlie: I honestly don't remember if Molly ended up dead or not; I know Vi and Rona both survived, and Kennedy, and that Cho-Ahn didn't survive. In any case, I wanted her painting a mural, so… we'll just pretend she got out._

Here's the second bit of Chapter Two. You can see now why I had to cut it in half. Also a warning that there's some language towards the end of the chapter that you wouldn't ordinarily find in my fics… but, well, that's what it sounded like in my head. The rating has been upped to PG-13 to cover it.

**Chapter Two (B) - I Think It's Going To Rain Today**

Two weeks later, the Slayer Training College was nearly ready for business. The dormitories were decorated and furnished, as were the seminar rooms and Giles' office. There was still work to be done on the gym, since a physical training programme had yet to be devised, and some equipment still to arrive for the kitchen. The common room had been sparsely furnished, the idea being that the girls would fill it with things to make it homely as their training progressed.

The attic, when it had become accessible, turned out to be of a decent size, and they were working turning it into an extra room. The initial plan had been to use it for storage, but then one of the girls made the suggestion that it would be sensible to have an adult staying at the Centre with them. Of course, the others had complained at that, but it was a logical idea. Hence, the attic was to become another bedroom-cum-study.

The girls had been appearing from around the world in drips and drabs as Robin and Faith found them. The renovation of the building had been interspersed during the last week by frequent drives to the airport, train station, or bus depot to collect them, and, as a result, the house was getting rather overcrowded. Nobody seemed to get a moment to his or herself. It was probably just as well.

A council, of sorts, had already started to form. Giles had arranged a meeting for them all, so they could be debriefed, and Robin had also expressed an interest in becoming a Watcher - though, Faith, quite vehemently, refused to be his Slayer. The few members were still sorting out accommodation for themselves, trying to find places to live that were close enough to the Training Centre. The one - currently, anyway - female member had volunteered to stay at the Centre with the girls, but, being a gentleman, Giles had offered as well. Luckily, the attic was large enough to accommodate _two_ bedrooms, with a joint study in the centre.

The Watchers arrived all together, turning up on the doorstep and looking lost. Buffy was the one to answer the door; when she'd realised who they were, she'd merely gestured to the veritable forest of sleeping bags in the living room, and told them where the nearest hotel was.

The days went on and turned into weeks; Giles held his meeting, and told the Watchers to sit tight until things were well and truly sorted, giving them some reading matter in the meantime. The attic was finally finished, as was the kitchen and the gym; all that was left to do was to tidy the garden area up, but that could wait. Eventually, though, when everybody was getting sick of falling over each other, it reached the stage where the girls simply had to go. In a matter of hours, Giles and the other Watchers had transported them to the dorms, provided food, and left them to it. Their live-in Watcher, a Ms. Charlotte Travers - "no relation" - settled in upstairs and made sure they were all comfortable, while Giles went back to the house to help Buffy and the others straighten it out.

They moved furniture around, helped Giles pack his things up, and then collapsed on the sofa, for the first time since they'd moved in a month ago. For a few moments, they sat in blissful silence.

"Hey…" said Xander. "You hear that?"

Everybody listened. "Hear what?" asked Dawn.

He grinned. "_Exactly_…"

Buffy groaned and rolled her eyes. "I can't believe we fell for that…"

The brief conversation lulled again, and, rather than the yelling and giggling that had filled the house for the past month, there was only the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece, and the quiet hum of distant traffic. Finally, there was room to breathe.

"Ah… silence," said Giles, breaking it. "Glorious silence. I'm rather sorry I won't be here to enjoy it."

"Well, you could always stay," said Andrew. "They've already got one Watcher in the attic."

Giles looked at him. "Locked away where she can't be of harm to herself and others?"

"Sorry. You know what I meant."

"Besides, they do need me, and I'm not willing to leave Ms. Travers in charge of that many young Slayers so early on. And, in all honesty, I thought you'd welcome the extra space."

"We do," said Willow. "Space is welcomed and given cookies. Or, uh, something like that."

"Yeah, Giles," added Buffy. "Really, it's fine. You just go and do your big boss thing; we'll be okay."

He smiled, grateful they were all being so understanding about it, and not trying to make him stay. But then, he realised, it wasn't as if he was leaving the country; he'd only be a few miles away, and, unless there was a crisis, they could handle things perfectly well on their own. Willow and Kennedy would be spending a lot of time at the Training Centre as it was - at least, if the former took up his offer - and so would Buffy, to a lesser degree. Dawn would also doubtless drag him back for 'family dinners', and he was always willing to lend a friendly ear if any of them felt like talking. And, considering that the house now gave them ample opportunity to do some serious reminiscing, that seemed a very real possibility.

Xander sat up suddenly. "You know what we should do?" Everyone gave him questioning glances. "We should go out for a meal, or something. We've been here… what? Over a month? And we haven't had time to even investigate this town, yet."

"I beg to differ," said Giles, mock-indignantly. "I recall us taking some very educational field trips."

Dawn snorted inelegantly. "Cemeteries and possible vampy hotspots don't count, Giles. He means investigating the nightlife. Finding a replacement 'Bronze', stuff like that."

"I think I meal sounds like a great idea," added Andrew, though it wasn't really his place to mention it. Nobody reprimanded him for it, so he cautiously added, "Uh, that is, for you guys. I can stay here and keep house, if you want."

"You're welcome to come, Andrew," Buffy told him, reassuringly. "So? Giles? Eating out on you?"

He let out a long-suffering sigh that he was unable to refuse them anything, and nodded. "All of you go and get changed, I'll look in the phone book."

A round of cheering and 'Yay!'s resounded in the room, and everyone made their way upstairs, leaving Giles alone in the living room. The very empty and quiet living room. It was taking some getting used to. Without the mass of trainee-Slayers, the house was actually larger than it looked. It also had carpets; nobody had been entirely sure of their existence while the floor was obliterated by sleeping bags.

He'd struck lucky in buying it; the people selling were beginning to despair of ever moving and were very close to taking it off the market completely, until Giles came along. It was just the right size for the seven of them - six, now he was moving out - while they were sharing rooms, and once Xander was able to buy his own place, Dawn and Buffy could have a room each once more, relegating Andrew to the box room at the back. In some respects, it might not have been the best plan; it resembled the house on Revello Drive more than any of them might have liked, but it couldn't be helped. The layout was just different enough for it not to matter.

The banging above his head finally stopped and migrated to the stairs. Buffy, Dawn and Andrew all emerged, followed a few minutes later by Xander. They took in Giles' position - clutching the telephone book, open to a random page - and Xander asked:

"Well? Where are we going?"

Giles snapped out of it. "What? Oh… Um…" He scanned the page in an attempt to look knowledgeable, realised it was for something completely unrelated, and shut the book. "I thought it'd be more fun to drive into town and pick a place when we get there. Or, at the very least, pick the place we argue least about."

"Sounds good to me," said Buffy, "so long as it's not pizza."

"But I wanted pizza!" The admonition came from both Dawn and Andrew simultaneously, in a frighteningly similar high-pitched whine. The effect was so uncanny it caused the remaining three occupants of the room to burst out laughing.

"You can have pizza any night of the week, Dawn. And Andrew," said Buffy. "It'd just be nice to have something different for a change."

They both mumbled, but said nothing more. Giles looked at his watch. "Are those two ever going to grace us with their presence?"

Xander cast a glance up the stairs.

~*~

Willow brushed her hair, pinned it up, then let it fall again, then repeated the indecisive process a few more times. Behind her, Kennedy systematically put back all of the shirts she'd rifled through to find one she wanted to wear, placing each hanger on the rail with an audible 'clink'. There was no denying the fact that she was annoyed about something.

Another 'clink' caused Willow to wince and lose the battle against her curiosity; it was probably better to get to the bottom of her girlfriend's annoyance before they went out, rather than letting her simmer all through the meal. She turned, giving up entirely on fixing her hair.

"Kennedy?"

"What?" _Clink._

"Is… is something wrong?"

"Nope." _Clink_. "Nothing's wrong. What makes you say that?" This time, the accompanying 'clink' was louder, and joined by a guarded, dark expression in Willow's direction.

"Oh, I don't know. Just the fact that you're trying to make the wardrobe cry, and that you haven't said anything since Xander suggested the meal."

The final shirt now put back, Kennedy shut the wardrobe; the door was pulled flush by its springs and hit the centre stopper with a resounding 'bang', partially aided by the force with which it had been pushed in the first place.

"The fact that you've forgotten isn't making me any less annoyed, Will."

Much as she knew it was a very bad idea to ask, Willow was utterly confused. "Forgotten what?"

Kennedy looked even more annoyed, and hurt. "You said we could spend the evening together. Now that the house is empty again and we've all got time to ourselves, you said we could spend some quality time, just the two of us." Now, Willow remembered; she'd suggested it in the midst of moving the armchair out of Xander and Andrew's room, and promptly forgotten about it in the energetic flurry of the rest of the day.

She looked down, chastised. "Yeah, I did…"

"Yeah. You did." Kennedy rolled her eyes. "God, what does it take? Am I always going to come second to your friends?"

"That isn't how it is, Kennedy," explained Willow. "It's just… It's Giles' last night in the house with us, and Xander wanted to make it special."

"And what Xander says goes, right? Who made him president of the world?"

"He's my best friend!" She realised straight afterwards that she'd said this slightly too defensively, and mentally smacked herself.

"So what I want doesn't matter?"

"That isn't what I said. Look, if it's that important to you, I'll just tell them we made plans already and-"

"Oh, no, don't go out of your way on my account," interrupted Kennedy. "It might mess up precious Xander's plans. Go to your meal, Willow; just let me know when you want to make time for me."

Willow was reaching the end of her tether, but tried not to let it show. When Kennedy was in a mood like this, she was impossible to reason with. "And then explain why you're not coming? Oh, yeah, and how would that go, Kennedy? 'She doesn't want to come with us, guys. She's too much of a martyr, and plus, Xander, I think she hates you.' Nice. That'll go down well." The younger girl said nothing, but her silence was challenging. Finally losing patience, Willow continued, "Look, if you want to be accepted, it's a two-way thing. You have to make the effort, and everybody else will. You chose to stay here, and that means learning that not everything revolves around you."

She stopped, taking in Kennedy's expression. Some of the anger had dissipated from her eyes, replaced by sadness and confusion. Willow suddenly remembered, once more, how young she was, and that she was used to so much more than this; she came from a household where everything was done for her. When Kennedy still hadn't spoken, she sighed, and tried to make amends. "I'm sorry… If it's any consolation in the slightest, I'd love you to come to this meal with us. I really do want you to get to know everyone better."

"Okay, I'll come. I guess I shouldn't be such a brat about these things." By way of an explanation, she added, "I'm just… I'm just tired. Everything's been completely insane since Sp-"

"I know," Willow interrupted, before she could say the name. Nobody had mentioned him since the incident, mainly for Buffy's sake, and eventually just out of habit. "I know it has."

"That's another thing," she said. "When are we going to talk about what happened?"

"When Buffy's ready."

Kennedy wanted to snark. She wanted to comment on the fact that the household still revolved around the One and Only, despite her passing on the torch… but she didn't. It wouldn't help matters, at this point. So instead, she just nodded acceptingly. "I guess that's fair enough."

"Well, I'm starving. You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she said. The two of them headed out of the room and down the stairs, meeting the rest of Willow's friends - and Andrew - in the lounge. The female members of the group exchanged banal compliments on each other's outfits, accepting the praise with fixed smiles and giving as much in kind; the menfolk rolled their eyes and dragged them out of the house. It was a forced normality, and all of them knew it; but normality was something nobody was used to, and all they could do was act as though they knew what it felt like.

As they piled into the back of Giles' people-carrier, Kennedy wondered just how much longer it would be before Buffy was 'ready', and secretly hoped that the conversation over dinner wouldn't return to reminiscing about Sunnydale. Her mental checklist of 'things-not-to-mention' was getting too long to remember - a certain dearly departed witch, a vengeance demon, and a bleached blond vampire forming the very top of it, and what-happens-when-Willow-gets-mad coming somewhere near the bottom - and she got the distinct impression everybody else's was, too…

~*~

They found a pleasant and not-too-crowded restaurant along the main shopping street of the town, with a table big enough to accommodate all seven of them without needing to book in advance. It was cosy-looking and served a wide range of meals, meaning that everyone could agree on it.

Starters dispensed with, the group was waiting for their main courses to arrive, chatting amongst themselves. Andrew had been grilling everyone for information about themselves, realising somewhere in the proceedings that he really didn't know them that well beyond their respective roles in the gang, and they were humouring him as patiently as they could. He was currently engaged in conversation with Willow, asking her about magic, and occasionally looking worried he'd said the wrong thing; Willow tried to answer as many of his questions as she could, amused by his random terrified expressions. She was sure the polite thing would have been to tell him she wasn't likely to hurt him like she'd threatened last year, but it was proving too funny letting him panic.

She'd prodded Kennedy knowingly at some point, so the brunette was currently talking to Xander; the conversation was slightly slow, but they were both making an effort, and he told enough light-hearted jokes to lighten the atmosphere when it got awkward. The one thing they did have in common was Willow, so much of their conversation surrounded anecdotes from her and Xander's younger days. Buffy and Dawn were engaged in a sisterly argument about hair products, stemming from a comment from the elder that her hair was _still_ retaining the horrible greasy finish from weeks ago, even though it had mostly disappeared.

And Giles… well, Giles was on the telephone, making sure that things were going swimmingly at the Training Centre. He'd apparently gotten hold of one of the girls rather than their live-in Watcher, and his pained, worried expression wasn't shifting.

"…so everything's fine? You're sure? There's nothing yo- What was that noise?"

In the sparsely-furnished common room, Vi looked around to find out. In the midst of their pillow fight, Rona had somehow managed to fall off the coffee table with a resounding crunch, and the rest of the girls were now in hysterics. Without bothering to cover the receiver, Vi shouted, "Would you keep it down?! I'm talking to Giles!"

He winced, holding the receiver away from his ear as Vi's deafeningly high-pitched yell resounded down the 'phone. When he was sure it was safe again, he ventured, "Vi, is Ms. Travers there? I'd really like to speak to her…"

"Sure," she said. The phone was put down, the distant sound of giggling still obvious in the background, and then Vi was yelling again, luckily further away. A few moments later, the phone was picked up again.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Travers?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

Giles rolled his eyes; he might have known Vi wouldn't be specific. "It's Rupert Giles. I'm just phoning to make sure everything's all right."

"Oh. Yes, everything's fine here, Mr. Giles. The girls are settling in nicely." Another round of hysterics sounded in the distance. "Very nicely."

"Good. I'm sorry to be so paranoid, but I had to be sure. They're accustomed to being around each other, and they've made the new girls quite at home in the short time they've been here."

"I must say, they've made me very welcome, too," said the female Watcher. "I'm starting to look forward to staying here. It reminds me of my university days." Here, she paused, covered the receiver, and said into the room, "If you break that, you're sleeping in the garden."

Giles smiled, calming a little, and wondering what he'd been so worried about. However, there were still things to check. "Sounds like it," he said. "Just to check: are the doors locked?"

"Yes."

"Both sets? And all the windows?"

"Yes."

"And the girls are all comfortable? There's enough food? Hot water? How about-"

Ms. Travers laughed. "Yes, everything's perfectly fine. I'm hoping they'll wear themselves out at some point tonight so I can get some sleep, but they're fine. Stop worrying."

"I'm very sure I won't," he said, lightly, "but thank you for putting my mind at rest."

"Goodbye, Mr. Giles." She emphasised the farewell, implying that he really _did_ have nothing to worry about, and that remaining on the telephone wasn't going to change anything even if he did.

"'Bye." Finally, he disconnected the call, and gave Buffy back her cell phone. She took it with an amused smile, having heard most of his end of the conversation.

"So," asked Xander, "are they dead yet?"

Buffy gave him a look, but Giles didn't seem to mind the question. "Thankfully, no. Actually, they seem to be enjoying themselves."

"See, what did I tell you?" That was Buffy, who had tried to convince him things were fine at the Training Centre, but had failed. He nodded to suggest that she'd been right all along, and she smiled. Neither said anything more for a while; Buffy seemed to be thinking about something. Giles didn't want to push, so waited until she spoke up.

Just as she was about to say something, a couple of the waiting staff arrived with their main courses, and all of the conversations lulled into sorting out who'd ordered what. They all began to tuck in, snippets of sentences occasionally rising between bites and requests for the salt.

Buffy twirled her fork into her spaghetti, still looking thoughtful, but hadn't eaten any of it. Giles watched her out of the corner of his eye as he carved a chunk from the steak he'd ordered, while occasionally commenting to the others. Buffy continued twirling, creating a sizeable sphere of pasta on her fork, until Willow finally noticed and attracted her attention.

"Buffy? Is something wrong with your meal?"

She looked up from the depths of the plate. "Huh?"

"Your meal," she repeated. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"Oh… No. I was just… just thinking." She seemed distant, still. Everyone at the table was now looking at her, wondering what was wrong. They were getting used to her being quiet, lost in her own thoughts, but most of the time she managed to snap herself out of it before they could worry. Suddenly, she put down her fork - still with its ball of spaghetti attached - and addressed the table in general, her voice low. "I was thinking… we lost so much when Sunnydale caved in. Not just our possessions and our home; we lost all the memories we made there, too… of the people we met, the places we hung out, the apocalypses we stopped - except, y'know, the last one, since there's that huge crater and it's kinda hard to miss…" Realising she was rambling, she tried again with a sigh. "And it's not like we have any photos left, either. So I was thinking maybe we should at least try and get some of those memories back, y'know?"

"Sounds great, Buff," said Xander, reassuringly. "But how? I mean, I'm sure our relatives have some photos, but it'd be difficult to explain why we need 'em."

"I'm not really talking about photos," she explained. "I meant more… markers. Grave markers…" Her friends said nothing, so she expanded a little on the idea. "Not even grave markers, really. Just stones, to remember everyone by. Giles? Could we maybe get a plot somewhere?"

He considered it. "I don't see why not… But are you sure-"

"Yes," she said, adamantly. "I think it'd really help us all. We've lost so many people, Giles, and not just recently. Can you honestly picture yourself without Jenny's grave to visit?" She was right, he realised, and as he pondered the possibility, she added, "Or you, Willow; don't you wish there was something for Tara?"

The witch nodded solemnly, lost for a moment in nostalgia; Kennedy grasped her hand beneath the table, partially for comfort, and partially to prove her own existence.

"Actually, I really miss talking to Mom," said Dawn, quietly. "When things got tough… it was sorta comforting." She met her sister's eyes across the table. "I think it's a great idea."

Both sisters turned to Giles once more. He nodded. "All right. I'll see what I can do."

Buffy cast a glance to Xander; as of yet, he'd not said anything. Cautiously, she said, "What about you, Xander? Do… do you want something for Anya?"

He gave her a weak smile. "Yeah… I think she'd like that. Just give me some time to… to think of what to put on it. I want to get it perfect."

"I know." Buffy swallowed nervously, fighting her emotions back. There'd been a higher purpose in her suggesting the marker idea, but she was terrified that nobody else would accept it, least of all Giles. She picked at her fingernails, took a sip from her drink to cure her suddenly parched throat, and took a deep breath, steeling herself. She stared steadfastly at the table, unable to meet her friends' eyes. "There's another reason, too," she said. "I want something… Oh, God… I want something to remember him by. I don't think I can go on like this any more, without _something_… I mean, he died a hero, he saved us all - he saved the _world_ - and he deserves it…" Looking up again, and seeing only supportive and sympathetic gazes, she found the strength to continue. "I want a marker for him. I want to bury him, at least in memory." Repeating it, she said, stronger, "I want a marker for Spike."

The marker's solemn epitaph had been planned in her head at the crater's edge, and she needed it set in stone; she owed him that much. There was silence. It was the first time she'd said his name since the Hellmouth caved in, and everyone was shocked, including Buffy herself. Hearing his name had brought back feelings she'd hoped to forget, but she fought it, awaiting whatever reactions she might get.

Nobody quite knew what to say that wouldn't sound contrived. They supported her decision, but didn't know how to tell her without it sounding fake. Everyone offered smiles and nods; Willow picked up a strand of grated carrot from her plate and nibbled at it; Giles sipped the wine he'd ordered.

Eventually, the first person to speak up was, surprisingly, Andrew. "I think that's the bravest thing I've ever heard," he told her. Everyone looked at him questioningly. "I mean it," he explained. "I don't think you have to be brave to be a Slayer; it's just part of the package, am I right?" Buffy hadn't really considered it, but she nodded, realising he was right. "But… okay, I didn't really know him that well. I don't really know any of you that well, and I don't know about your history or anything like that, but I do know that Spike loved you, Buffy. I think anybody who saw you together could tell that much. And we can all see how badly his… um… sacrifice has hit you. So, acknowledging it? That's really brave. I don't think I could do that."

Buffy's eyes twinkled with unshed tears - from force of habit more than anything else - but she smiled at him. "Thank you, Andrew." Andrew's words encouraged the others to come forward. They all offered words of encouragement and support, while Giles merely squeezed her hand and gave her a small nod that showed he understood, and he wasn't going to deny her this one request; it was all she could have wanted. The atmosphere lightened again, and they all continued eating. Buffy wiped her eyes, took a bite of her pasta, and felt slightly better. It still hurt; it probably always would. But at least now she had something to remember him by. Later, she'd ask Dawn if she minded the marker being next to Joyce's, but she doubted there would be a problem.

Pulling herself back to reality before her memory could take over, she addressed the young Slayer sitting two seats down from her. "Kennedy?"

"Yes?"

"Is there anyone you'd like to remember?"

She thought about it. "Well… most of my family are in L.A., but… I think we had a great aunt who lived in Sunnydale. Or maybe it was a second-cousin. I don't really remember. I did find the grave, though, when we were in the cemetery one time."

"Well, if you find out who it was, we can maybe put her in the plot, too."

"Thanks," she said, grateful for the offer, "but I think she was a family outcast, or something. The token madwoman that every family has."

Buffy grinned. "Fair enough. If you change your mind…"

"I'll let you know."

Andrew prodded absently at his meal, apparently deep in thought. After a few seconds, he looked up. "Buffy, um…"

"Uh-huh?"

"These markers… I was wondering… could I maybe have a couple of spots?"

"Sure, but… for who?"

Nervously, he said, "My friends. 'Cause I don't think they had markers to begin with, and I'd like to remember 'em."

"I don't see why not," said Buffy.

Dawn, however, looked less accepting. "Why d'you want a marker for Jonathan, Andrew? Didn't you kill him?" she asked, bluntly.

"Dawn!" admonished her sister.

"What? It's true!"

Andrew looked chastised. "She's right; I did. But I was under the influence of the First, and-"

"Oh, and that makes it okay?"

"No, but I'm just saying: that's what happened. I know what I did was wrong; I know that maybe if I'd just ignored it, the Hellmouth wouldn't have gotten all… Hellmouthy. But he was my best friend. He and Warren were my only friends." At this point, remembering, he risked a glance to Willow. She looked guilty, only able to meet his gaze for a matter of seconds, but he knew the circumstances, now. "Don't worry about it," he told her. "He did worse things than you'd ever be capable of; I know that, but there were good times before it went wrong, and I still want to remember him."

"Maybe we don't," said Dawn, determined to make him feel bad about it - or, at least, determined to vent her teenage frustrations on somebody. "You and your 'best friends' made Buffy's life a living Hell, do you know that? Warren killed one of the best, purest people I've ever known; he tried to kill my sister. Do you have any idea what that could have done to us? Again?"

"No," he said. "And I didn't know he'd try to do that. Neither of us did. We were just up for some fun, that's all. Warren went crazy all on his own." He sighed. "But before that, he was my friend."

Dawn was about to say something else, but Giles intervened, trying to be at least fairly diplomatic. "Dawn, enough! Andrew, you are perfectly entitled to space in the plot."

Everyone else was pointedly trying to ignore the exchange, eating to distract themselves, and Buffy had also long since given up on trying to talk to her sister. The teenager was still unconvinced. "So that's it? He gets to preserve the memory of a loser and a murderer?"

"Hey! Geek, yes; loser, no."

She shrugged. "One and the same to me."

"Well, you're a… you're a brat! No, wait, you're a memory implanted by monks." Mocking her, he said, "Oh, well, one and the same to me."

She was about to say something else, when she realised something: how did Andrew know her origins? "How did you-?"

"That'd be telling," he taunted. "Incidentally, how was that party you went to when you were meant to be studying at your friend's house?" In mock-remembrance, he added, "Oops… my bad…"

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "What party?"

Dawn ignored her; she'd face the comeuppances later. "You read my diary?"

"No, you stole my Limited Edition gold-plated Enterprise memorabilia pen to write it with, and I had to go looking for it. You should really be more careful where you hide things."

Her mouth dropped open. "I don't believe you! Haven't you ever heard of personal space?"

"Hello? Limited Edition! Roughly translates as 'Do Not Use'!"

By now, the other occupants of the restaurant, what few there were, had started to mutter amongst themselves, and cast disdainful glances towards the escalating argument. Andrew should have been old enough to know better, but Dawn was continually baiting him.

"It's a pen!"

"It's a pen that's been touched by the one and only William Shatner, in person, and now it's got your fingerprints all over it."

At this point, Xander intervened. "Dude. Seriously?"

Andrew grinned. "Yeah, I know. It's, like, the coolest thing ever."

"Xander," said Buffy, wearily, "you're not helping…"

"Sorry." He returned to his food.

Dawn was running out of steam, and words failed her. She couldn't believe that Andrew was getting so worked up over a ball-point pen, and that he'd chosen to get revenge by reading her most personal possession. She could only be glad he'd not aired anything more incriminating from it… not that there _was_ anything incriminating, of course. "You're an idiot."

"Well, you're a bigger one."

"Geek."

"Thank you."

She screamed, frustrated. "Ugh! Asshole."

Buffy frowned. "Dawn, language."

"P'tach," accused Andrew. Xander sniggered; Willow punched him in the arm and glared.

Oh, wonderful, now he was resorting to made-up insults. "Moron."

"Tralk." (A knowing grin from Xander, and an expression that said "Harsh…")

"Scrud."

The slanging-match went on for a few more pointless seconds, Dawn's name-calling ranging from the mindless to the downright insulting, and Andrew's becoming increasingly more science-fiction based, until even Xander didn't know what he was referencing. It was finally brought to an abrupt halt by the restaurant manager approaching the table.

"Is there some kind of problem, here?" he asked, with forced politeness.

"No," said Giles. "No problem. Just, um, family issues. We… we recently lost someone, so…" He trailed off, hoping the excuse was self-explanatory.

"I see," said the manager. "I appreciate that, sir, it's just that… well, the other guests are starting to complain about the noise. If the two siblings would care to go outside, perhaps? Or we can gladly offer a room elsewhere in the building for them to work it out."

"Thank you, but it won't be necessary," said Buffy, giving Dawn the glance she reserved especially for such situations.

"Very good." Satisfied, the manager departed; he'd been lenient, presumably, because they'd obviously recently moved to the town. The table sat in guilty silence for a while, Dawn giving Andrew her best evil eye, and Andrew staring determinedly back. After a while, however, he merely gave up, drained his glass, placed his cutlery neatly on his plate, and stood.

"Y'know… I think I'm gonna go. I need some fresh air."

"You don't have to, Andrew," offered Buffy, apologetically, on behalf of her sister. "I'm sure Dawn'll-"

"Let him go," said her sister, "if he wants to."

Andrew nodded. "Thanks for the meal, Giles. Sorry this had to happen. I'll… I'll see you all later at the house, I guess." He gave a half-hearted wave, then turned tail and left.

"Nice going, Dawn…"

The brunette had seen Andrew's dejected expression as he turned, and the way he slumped as he walked off, and was now feeling slightly guilty about starting the fight. After all, Andrew had lost his friends, no matter what the circumstances. Nevertheless, his reading her diary was inexcusable. "Sorry, Buffy" she said, sighing impatiently, "I just-"

"I don't want to hear it. When we get back, you're going to apologise." Before she could protest, she added, "And I don't care how difficult it is, or how much you don't want to." Lowering her voice to a tone only Dawn could really hear, she said, "I cannot deal with this right now. You're nearly eighteen. Start acting like it."

~*~

He'd lost track of how long he'd been wandering the streets, but knew it had to be in the region of several hours. It had been early evening when he left the restaurant, and the sky was darker now, the air chillier; Andrew began to wish he'd worn a jacket. Leaving had essentially accomplished nothing, but at least now he was less likely to provoke Dawn, or say something he'd inevitably regret. Their argument had appeared childish at the time, but what she'd said had hurt; he had it within his power to hurt her back, but it wasn't in his nature. The Scoobies had all been through more than he had, and she deserved the chance to vent, even if it was him Dawn took her frustrations out on.

She'd been right. He _had_ killed Jonathan, and Warren _was_ a murderer. Andrew knew that he had no right to want to remember them, in fondness or otherwise, but he had nobody else. They'd been the only friends he'd had, all through high school. He was trying to be friends with the Scoobies, but it was difficult. The circumstances weren't ideal to begin with; he'd gone from unwilling hostage to spare wheel, and he got the impression that everyone was just too polite to brush him off. There'd been the occasional moment before the battle, when he thought, maybe, there was a chance they might all be friends. He and Anya had just been getting closer right when she…

No. It wouldn't do to think of Anya, nor to remember the horrors he'd witnessed that night. It was too raw and fresh in the very back of his conscious memory, and to bring the images to mind was too much to deal with. He blamed himself for her death; she'd only been protecting him from danger… or had she? Maybe he'd just imagined it. Maybe he'd just told Xander that because it was what he wanted to hear, and maybe, now, Andrew was believing it for himself. Why would Anya protect him? Why would she lay her own life on the line for someone she barely knew and had hardly even been civil to?

Thinking about it made his brain ache. It would be so much easier for everyone if he left, like he'd told Xander he would. Except he had nowhere to go, and nobody to go to. His family had either moved out of Sunnydale before the battle started, or ended up dead in the aftermath. Both of his best friends were gone. He was pretty sure that Buffy and her friends were only tolerating him; Dawn had made it obvious during the meal that she didn't like him, and the only person he could really, honestly, see himself being friends with was Xander. Xander needed him, after all, or so he'd said. To leave now… to leave wouldn't be fair on him.

He shivered against a breeze that had picked up, and took in his surroundings. He'd been wandering aimlessly, heedless of the direction he was going, and now realised he was utterly lost. He'd moved from the reputable central area of the town, where the restaurant had been situated, to one of probably many back alleys. Music from a seedy nightclub thumped through the wall to his left, and the one to his right smelt suspiciously of something he didn't want to think about; the only light came from two dim bulbs above the club's back door.

_Well done, Andrew_, he chastised himself. _Way to get yourself lost._ He turned back on himself and headed towards the street at the end of the alley, since there was only a dead end in the direction he'd been going. With any luck, there might be someone he could ask for directions, or, at the very least, a passing taxi.

The street was practically deserted, however, and his mild enthusiasm began to wane. It would be just his luck to get murdered out here when he didn't even know where he was; but then, he doubted anyone would miss him. Frustrated, he kicked at a tin can in his path, battering it into a dented lump with the toe of his trainer, until finally hefting it at a nearby wall. It was fitting; wasn't that exactly how he was treating Buffy's hospitality, throwing it back in her face by getting into arguments and walking out on their get-together? He felt sickened by himself.

_I shouldn't even be alive,_ he thought. _I'm not a hero._ And yet Buffy had taken him in; she'd accepted him, tried to fold him into her group despite their previous differences, and he'd not even thanked her. He'd not even offered his commiserations, awkward though they would inevitably be, just stayed out of everyone's way. They all thought he was useless, and childish, and he didn't know how he could prove them wrong. No matter what he did, it didn't seem to make a difference.

Then again… he _had_ managed to get himself lost in a new town, so maybe they were right.

Further ahead, he could see vehicle headlights. That was at least vaguely more promising than the deserted side-street he was currently on. Struggling to force his negative thoughts back, he stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets and headed for the traffic.

~*~

The argument wasn't mentioned again after Andrew had walked out. There was little point in reprimanding Dawn for it, and even less point going after Andrew. He needed time to think, and Dawn knew she'd pushed too far. Instead, the rest of them enjoyed the rest of their meal, and kept the conversation light. Xander was quiet, as was Buffy, but nobody prodded them. They were both thinking about the latter's suggestion.

Giles drove everyone home straight afterwards, and they disbanded to their respective rooms. Dawn wisely remained downstairs to watch television, leaving Buffy to her thoughts; Xander headed upstairs, still looking ponderous, and Giles had gone to make sure he'd packed everything up, ready for the next morning. Willow and Kennedy were spending their 'quality time' together, purely because Willow had promised they would.

Buffy lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. It was early yet, not even eleven o'clock, a time when she would ordinarily have been patrolling. Now that she didn't have her Slayer duties to worry about, she realised that she had too much time, and not enough to do to fill it. Since sleep wasn't going to happen - after all, why should this night be any exception? - the bed was the most comfortable place to mope, and she could, at least, pretend to be asleep when Dawn finally surfaced from the living room, so as to avoid more difficult conversations and her sister's inevitable awkward apology. She hadn't bothered to draw the curtains; the glow from the streetlamp outside bathed the room in a warm, yellowish glow. From her position, Buffy could see the sky through the window. It was clouding over, wisps of grey obliterating the usually clear stars; rain was inevitable.

She closed her eyes, breathing out, trying to focus her mind on all the things that needed to be done. Giles wanted her to help at the Training Centre, for one. The girls needed guidance from a real Slayer; it was all very well training them and teaching them, but Buffy had the experience, and Giles would rather she shared it. If Willow took up the offer of teaching them magic, she entertained the notion of considering it, but promised nothing. Slaying, as far as she was concerned, was no longer her job; she'd had seven years of it, and was ready to go into early retirement. Of course, it would be a while before she got any peace; the house was to be Base Camp for Faith and Robin whenever they found a new Slayer, and for whenever the Hell they returned from whatever part of the world they were in at the moment. Buffy envied them, a little. She knew they had a difficult job to do, but they were seeing the world in the process. Faith had sent postcards, only from other parts of the country, so far, but soon they'd be in Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia… places she could only dream of. And, aside from that, they were together. Faith was happy; Buffy didn't begrudge her that… but God, she was jealous.

Her mental check-list had vanished some time ago, as thoughts of Faith and Robin dredged up associated memories of their last few weeks in Sunnydale. She was too exhausted to keep holding them back, and let the remembrance wash over her. Conversations with people, whether amicable, argumentative, or downright weird - pop-psychologist vamp in the cemetery, whose name even now she'd forgotten again, seemed to keep coming back to haunt her - all filled her brain. Forcing Andrew to cry, refusing the dark power that had created the First Slayer, and the night she nearly gave up completely… it all came back. And then, try as she might, nothing could stop the memories she'd tried so desperately to repress from returning: the decision to remove the chip; the night Giles set them up; the trigger; the moment she found out about the soul, the image of him draped over the cross forever engraved on her mind with the scent of burning flesh and the feeling of complete helplessness… and that night he'd found her, saved her from herself, forced her to carry on when she was ready to give up.

She threw off the covers and went to the open window, staring up at the now almost completely grey sky through bleary, tear-filled eyes. She wouldn't remember that final night, not now. She knew it would tip her over the edge completely, that if she started crying, she'd never be able to stop… and with still so much to do, she couldn't afford to lose herself. So instead, she let the tears flow quietly, bringing some short relief from the pain, though barely enough to numb it, and she stared heavenwards. Haunted by sporadic snippets of conversations, she heard a heart-wrenchingly familiar voice in her mind.

_'…It's not worth it if they don't cry…'_

Searching through the grey for some sign of a star, she spoke to the night. "Well, I'm crying now." She gesticulated towards herself, wiping tears from her cheeks. "Was it worth it?" There was no answer, just a gust of wind that caught her hair and whipped it around her face, as the rain that had been waiting for weeks finally started. Under any other circumstances, she might have taken it as a sign, but she knew it was just the weather changing. Speaking louder against the breeze through the trees, and the rattle of rain on the windows, she repeated, "Was it fucking worth it?!"

She felt better, marginally, for swearing. It didn't last long, however, because in the next instance, another voice from the front path made her jump. "What, walking out of the restaurant?" She looked down, noticing Andrew for the first time. He was very quickly getting soaked, standing in the downpour, and he was looking up at her, curiously. When she didn't answer, he added, "I… I guess so. I mean, I did some thinking while I was gone. Is that what you meant?" She was glad of the storm; at least the wetness on her face couldn't be attributed to tears now.

"Oh… Andrew… Never mind, I… you weren't meant to hear that."

"Oh." He stood there a while longer, then said, "You okay?"

"Sure," she said, doubting it was convincing, though Andrew didn't push the matter. "Where'd you go?"

"Went for a walk," he told her. "I got lost. But then I found Main Street and remembered the way Giles had driven earlier, so…" He trailed off; the fact that he was back was proof enough that he had remembered.

Buffy was shocked. "You walked all the way back?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you call?"

He shrugged. "I figured you all had better things to worry about." Before Buffy could reply to that, he said, "You should probably get back inside. It's raining."

She nodded. Andrew seemed different, not like himself, but since he hadn't questioned her further about screaming to the moon, she decided against interrogating him. Dawn had said some harsh things to him earlier that night, and it figured he'd want to think things through. He said nothing else, though, and she watched him until he entered the house and she could no longer see him. Instead, she heard him ascend the stairs - without a word spoken between him and her sister - and enter his and Xander's room. Their strange conversation would remain between them.

Buffy pulled the window to, leaving it only slightly open in the hope that the sound of the rain might help her sleep, and dried her hair off with a towel. She clambered back into bed, and resumed staring at the ceiling. What she'd screamed earlier rang true, in a way. Had it really been worth it, saving the world? There would always be evil, and she would always have to fight it. Her friends would always have to help her; she would always end up with casualties, and constantly lose the people she cared about. They were two soldiers down in their tiny army, and who knew how many more they could lose? When this Hellmouth was closed, would there be another? And another? How much more of the earth would they have to destroy?

Buffy swallowed at the prospect that, however many years down the line, another Slayer - or Slayers - would be leading her friends into yet another mindless war. It wasn't her problem… but she still felt responsible. The Fate of the world had rested on her shoulders for most of her teenage life, and it was a burden that she would always bear, Slayer or not. It was a burden they'd all have to carry eventually. So, really, was it worth it?

His sacrifice had never felt right. She'd tried to justify it in her mind so many times, tried to work out the reasoning of it beyond the purpose of the amulet. He'd done it willingly; she'd chosen him to bear the trinket; they were both to blame for his decision, in a way. He'd done it to save her, to give her a world to climb back to, without realising that her world was nothing now he'd gone. He knew the price he had to pay, but he'd never anticipated hers.

And yet, deep down, Buffy knew there had to be a reason she was still here. She knew that something had to happen to make it worthwhile. A combination of optimism - what little of that she had left - and Slayer-intuition told her that she was around for some higher purpose than just training new Slayers. Until that purpose became clear to her, however, there was nothing to do except wait, stare at the ceiling, and listen to the Cleveland rain.

_To be continued…_

**A/N:** The Andrew/Dawn argument wasn't meant to be as light as it ended up, but writing GeekSpeak for Andrew (and Xander) turned out to be too amusing a concept to pass up. Kudos to anyone that can name the three different references (two of Andrew's and one of Dawn's, though that's less obscure and probably still in use.) In any case, it got me to the point I wanted to get to, so it wasn't completely pointless. If Andrew seems uncharacteristically mopey… I apologise. I do have something planned for him later, so his presence isn't entirely without point.

Lyrics to the song for this entire chapter (both parts) are below.

**I Think It's Going To Rain Today**  
_(Katie Melua)_  
Broken windows and empty hallways  
A pale dead moon  
In a sky streaked with grey  
Human kindness is overflowing  
And I think it's going to rain today

Scarecrows dressed in the latest styles  
With frozen smiles to chase love away  
Human kindness is overflowing  
And I think it's going to rain today

Lonely, lonely  
Tin can at my feet  
Think I'll kick it down the street  
That's the way to treat a friend

Bright before me the signs implore me  
Help the needy and show them the way  
Human kindness is overflowing  
And I think it's going to rain today

_(from Call Off The Search; lyrics by Randy Newman)_


	5. Chapter Three: Learnin' The Blues

**BROKEN RECORD**

_**Disclaimer, etc. as on first chapter.  
Author's Notes:** More from Katie Melua, and another situating-ish chapter, though hopefully I'll get to something resembling the plot at some point soon. This is just more lengthy moping from everyone, really. Actually, the whole thing's pretty much just everyone moping, at least for a few more chapters. Um. Also, I seem to have developed a tendency of making Dawn start fights with people, but this one is slightly more justified… _

This has a very slight reference to my "Chosen" Counterpoint fic, for those that have read it. Those that haven't will just be mildly confused, or probably won't even notice… 

Possibly there'll be some hints as to the eventual outcome, if I feel like it. Where we've previously visited mainly Buffy's feelings post-Sunnydale, this'll deal more with Xander and Willow, Buffy/Xander friendshipness, and possibly Spike through Buffy's general state of mind. Don't get too excited. He's not making an appearance 'til at least four chapters or so, and the Spuffy's not for ages yet, so just be patient. All good things come to those who wait, or so Guinness would have you believe. I've finally managed to watch some of Season 5 of Angel, and, while this isn't going to follow the canon exactly (I saw literally about 3 episodes of the previous three seasons…) I'm going to use some of the ideas from it when it gets to that point in the story. 

**Chapter Three – Learnin' The Blues**

_She knows this place. It's murky and dark, impossible to see a thing, yet, somehow, she knows it: knows its scent, its atmosphere. The sand-clouds hold echoes of the sounds of battle, the war-cries of the enemy, the screams of the wounded. She presses forward, one step in front of the other, not knowing where she's supposed to end up, if she's supposed to end up anywhere. _

The wind picks up, creating a dervish from the white sand and orange dust, whipping her hair into her eyes; she brushes it aside, flips her head, and lowers her eyelids enough to keep the motes from her eyes. Left. Right. She keeps on going. 

The screams around her grow louder, the clash of metal on metal. She feels a sudden, sharp twinge, gasping at the unexpected pain, and looks down to see blood seeping through her shirt from a familiar, old wound in her right side. This panics her more than it should, but she can't remember why, if she ever knew to begin with; the reason is elusive and beyond her reach. She presses her left hand over the wound and ignores the pain. She realises now that she must go forward. 

Step by step. Echo by echo. 

Slowly, her vision clears; she can make out a dark, stormy sky through the dust, She looks down to see the familiar grey of concrete: a road. Her pace slows; whatever she's being drawn to controls her. The unmistakable stench of burning flesh assaults her nostrils; she wrinkles her nose, but knows she must continue, take the final few steps. 

The wind starts to die as she approaches the end of her mysterious journey, and the grainy fog grows thinner, finally dropping enough to make her destination visible. Behind her, the road leads straight back the way she came, into the dust cloud. Ahead, the road stretches on only a few metres, ending suddenly with ragged, torn edges, the asphalt clawing into the abyss below. 

The crater. Always the crater, the place of nightmares, the very bowels of Hell itself. Last she was here, the bottom wasn't visible for smoke and disturbed dust. It's clear now, and nothing like the pit of fire she'd expected. It's just a hole in the ground, already dotted with struggling grass and weeds around the rim, former foundations and sewers jutting out of the rock's jagged walls. In the bottom lies a pile of buildings, discarded like childrens' toys. 

She stares into it, amazed all over again that they made it out. She wonders why there's no fencing, no protection surrounding it, nothing to indicate that anyone even knows it's here; it was recorded as a natural phenomenon, so surely it should be a tourist attraction by now, or filled with teams of scientists. It's just a forgotten blemish, and she feels somehow cheated. 

It's only after several seconds that she hears it. At first, she thinks there's someone behind her, and turns to look: the dust is too thick. Then she hears it again, louder this time, and places it – a scraping sound, accompanied by the crackle of falling stones. She crouches, close to the ground, places her free palm to the floor to support herself, and peers carefully over the edge. Her movement dislodges more of the road's surface, sending it tumbling below, but she sees nothing below. She pulls back, and makes to leave. 

Her hand is pinned, and she instinctively panics, knowing better than to simply pull away. She takes a calming breath, coughing on the residual dust, and then casts her gaze down once more. 

Fingers cling to her wrist, long, with bitten-down nails; the arm to which they belong supports a body, struggling to climb from the pit, but she only sees as far as its elbow. The pain in her side has ebbed; she removes her hand and starts to reach out, stretching her arm as far as she can beyond the edge and waiting for someone to grab on. 

Flame-scarred knuckles grasp the crater's edge. 

**Brrrrring! Brrrrring!**

The harsh sound of the new telephone sliced through Buffy's dream, and dragged her unwillingly out of slumber. It had been the third time she'd visited the crater, the third time she'd reached out to help the stranger from its depths, and the third time, infuriatingly, she'd spotted those scarred hands and woken up before she could honestly confirm their owner's identity. She awoke in the mornings with a dull ache in her side, stinging knuckles, and disappointment in her heart. And, this time, a consistent drilling in her brain. 

**BRRRRRRING!**

Was it her imagination, or was the damned thing getting louder? She buried her head under a pillow and groaned, willing whoever was calling to try again later, when it wasn't seven in the morning. 

"Buffy?" Her sister's voice, muffled, drifted from the other side of the room. 

"I'm asleep." 

"You so are not. Are you going to answer that?" Buffy ignored her, hoping that would be enough of an answer. Dawn, however, was oblivious, and more annoying than the telephone at that moment in time. "You're closer…" 

She threw the pillow from her face, forced her eyes open, and sat up, reaching out for the receiver with one hand and rubbing the dream's residual images from her eyes with the other. 

"What? Um, I mean, Summers residence; this is Buffy, and what the _Hell_ time do you call… – Whoa, whoa, calm down. – Uh-huh. – You're where? – Right. So you want directions or…? – Oh. Obviously. Um…" She let out a yawn before continuing. "I'll… I'll send Giles with the... – Huh? Oh, Giles is the principal. You'll like him. – Yup. – Okay. – Just look out for the British guy with the mid-life-crisis-four-wheel-drive. Sorry about the mix-up. – 'Kay. Bye." 

She put the receiver down again, then rubbed her eyes a second time. Dawn gave her an expectant expression. 

"Well?" 

"New Slayer. She's at the bus depot. Apparently, 'the dark-haired girl stuck her on a bus and told her to get off at Cleveland'. Lucky for her we're listed. Gotta love Faith's people skills." 

"So, you gonna call Giles?" 

Buffy cast her sister a glare; just when had Dawn become so lazy? The sooner they could have separate rooms, the better, in her opinion. "No," she said, "I'm gonna…" She trailed off with a grimace, suddenly wrapping both arms around her stomach. She kicked the covers off the bed and swung her legs to stand. "I'm gonna throw up…" 

"Buffy?" Dawn was quick to follow, running after her sister down the landing towards the bathroom. Buffy barely made it to the lavatory, throwing herself to her knees while Dawn swept her hair up out of the way and stroked her back like she remembered their mother doing when they were sick. Buffy's body shuddered and Dawn cringed; this was the first time she'd actually thrown up, despite claiming to be nauseous for the past week or so. 

Willow appeared at the bathroom door, having heard the commotion, looking concerned. "Is she okay?" 

Dawn nodded. "Yeah, I think so." Then, remembering the phone call that had come in not a minute ago, she said, "Um, we got a call just now. There's a new Slayer at the bus depot and she needs to be picked up; could you call Giles and tell him? But, uh, don't say anything about Buffy, okay?" 

"Sure," said Willow, and, casting a final worried glance at Buffy, who was taking heavy breaths to settle her stomach a little, she headed downstairs to make the call. Xander and Andrew both emerged from their room a moment later, as Buffy waved Dawn away from her and sat back. Dawn reached to flush, and filled the sink, but then stood back to give her some air. 

Xander, despite his obvious worry, prodded Andrew in the chest and said, "Last time we let you cook, Andy. Seriously." 

It raised a smile in Buffy, at least. She stood, shakily, and cleaned up at the sink. As she drained it, she said, "I don't think it was Andrew's fault. None of you are sick, are you?" They all shook their heads. "It's probably a virus. Which means it'll clear up soon. Nothing to worry about." 

"As long as you're sure," said Xander. 

Buffy smiled reassuringly. "It doesn't feel fatal, if that's what you're worried about. And actually, now I feel pretty good." That being said, she winced, as the ache in her side twinged. 

"Buff?" 

"Nothing. Old wound." The twinge wore off and she muttered to herself, "Should'a healed by now…" She met her friend's gaze again. "Seriously, Xander, stop worrying. I'm okay, really. Now, do I get to use the bathroom in peace, or are you all going to stare at me?" 

  
  
She ambled down the stairs half an hour later, showered, dressed, and hungry. It was still surprising some mornings to come down and find the lower floor quiet and empty, but, after housing teenage girls for so many months, it was going to take some getting used to. Buffy thought about what to have for breakfast, first heading out to the mail box. She opened it, reaching in for the single item in there, and waved greeting to a nearby neighbour who was mowing his front lawn, before going back indoors. 

She took the mail with her into the kitchen, intending to read it while she ate, and pondered the telephone call they'd received earlier. Most of the girls they'd already met had arrived in groups of two to four, but this was the first individual. The Slayers kept on rolling in from all over the country. Two of the dormitories had filled within two weeks, and in the meantime, Giles was continuing to debrief the assembled Watchers. Each of them would be responsible for at least three Slayers to begin with, until more could be found. When Robin returned, it would lighten the load a little, but Giles was starting to contact people back in England, checking his various connections for anyone that might be willing to train with the other new Watchers. 

Buffy examined her mail: it was a postcard, depicting the Statue of Liberty, graffiti-ed to look like she was carrying a slightly flame-shaped stake, and a very book-shaped bottle of holy water, with a ridiculously large cross around her neck. The photograph's description had been similarly altered to read "The Slayer of Liberty". Faith was sending these; the living room's mantelpiece was gaining quite a collection of the colourful postcards, sent from each city she and Robin had covered. She'd address them to Buffy specifically, but sent regards to everyone in passing, and kept on promising to call; she never managed it. Despite their differences, Buffy found herself starting to miss the once-rogue Slayer; Faith's letters were optimistic, written like she spoke, yet slightly wistful, wishing her fellow ex-Slayer could see the things she'd seen. 

This one was no exception. Buffy suppressed an amused snort at the photograph to start with, and eagerly turned it over to read while she waited for the kettle to finish boiling. Faith's scrawling and untidy handwriting covered seventy-five per cent of the surface, the address squeezed into a corner in Robin's considerably more legible print. Buffy smiled as she read it. 

_"Yo, B! _

"We're in New York! You probably guessed that from the picture, right? Sorry for the graffiti; Robin told me it was immature. Big dork. He says 'hey', by the way. Also something about cheesecake? Beats me, but he said you'd understand and that it reminded him of you, or something. That's all he'd say. Big-ass shrug from me. 

"You got a Slayer heading your way; I think I might'a forgotten to tell her some things, but after a while the whole pep-talk thing starts to come out on auto-pilot, y'know? Anyway, this one seems a sweet kid, so tell Giles to go easy on her. 

"This place is great! I don't think I've ever seen so many shops in one place. I swear, I'm retiring after this mission's over and spending all of Robin's well-earned Hellmouth-High-School-Principal's cash, yo! If that's crossed out when you get this, he did it. 

"Tell all the guys and gals we're doin' okay. I know I keep promising I'll call, but we're never anywhere long enough to find a phone. You owe me gossip, big time. After this we're heading south, I think. The Slayers seem to be thinning out a little. In a couple weeks we'll be in Europe – all those Gileses! 

"These damn things are too small. Guess I'd better sign off now. I'll keep persuading this guy to buy a cell. 

"See ya soon, B. 

"F & R." 

Buffy turned the card over again to examine Faith's artwork, grinned half-heartedly, and read it a second time. In a flash, she suddenly understood about the cheesecake, and blushed at the memory of that disastrous first date with Robin, hoping he hadn't told Faith any details. The blush faded almost instantly as she remembered how that date had ended, and the scorched hand from her dream came back to her. She'd stopped lying awake at night, but that only meant she dreamt what she couldn't think. She _knew_ who those knuckles belonged to as well as she knew her own, and, while some part of her was annoyed, every time, when she awoke without finding out, another part of her was relieved beyond measure. She'd been prone to similar dreams before, and this one had all the signs of being prophetic… but if she let herself believe that, it was bound to end in tears. Better to assume it was her brain's way of sorting through its own mess. 

She shook her head to clear it, vaguely aware of the kettle clicking off, and went to put the postcard on the mantle with the others. Returning to the kitchen, she made herself some coffee and searched through the cupboards for some cereal. Nothing appealed; she'd lost her appetite entirely, but knew she had to eat something. All they seemed to own was Dawn's ridiculously sugary stuff, and, after emptying her stomach already, Buffy didn't feel like giving it another excuse to complain. She closed the cupboard door and opened the one next to it, hoping to fare better. 

Dawn found her, not ten seconds later, still staring into that same cupboard, frozen to the spot. "Buffy? You okay?" 

She shook herself out of it, reached into the cupboard, and then shut the door. She thrust the box she'd grabbed at Dawn. "What's this?" 

Dawn looked at it. "It's a box of cereal…" 

"I can see that, Dawn," she said, impatiently. "_What_ cereal is it?" 

The brunette looked at it closer, reading the label. "Oh…" In her hands, she held a box of Wheatabix; Buffy discovering it in the cupboard had been the final straw after her unwilling journey down Memory Lane. 

"Oh," mocked Buffy. 

"Well, it's not mine!" said her sister, defensively. "I don't even like this stuff!" 

"Whoever's it is, get rid of it. I never want to see that stuff in this house again, is that clear?" 

"But Buffy-" 

"But nothing. Get it out of here." With that, she turned and stormed out of the house. Dawn flinched as the door slammed at the end of the hallway, and dumped the cereal box on the table. She helped herself to Buffy's abandoned coffee, and stared mournfully at the box. In all likelihood, Andrew had bought it on the last shopping trip, or one of the girls before they all left; none of the Scoobies would have risked it, so it had to be someone who didn't know the significance. 

The question was answered when Kennedy wandered into the kitchen. "Not that I mind," she said, "but if you wanted some of my cereal, there are better ways to ask." 

Dawn snapped out of it. "This is yours?" 

"Yeah." Without a word, Dawn nodded to herself with a slight, comprehending roll of her eyes, and promptly dumped the entire box into the trash. "Hey! What do you think you're doing!" Kennedy ran to try and retrieve it, but Dawn blocked her way. 

"Sorry, Kennedy," she said, "but Buffy… she doesn't want it in the house." 

"Why? It's not gonna poison her." 

"That's not the reason. It's just… Spike, he… he used to-" 

Kennedy cut her off. "Oh, don't bother. I don't want to know." She went in search of some bread, more noisily than was strictly necessary, shoved it unceremoniously into the toaster, and pushed down the lever. She leaned against the counter, arms folded, and made a show of trying to pretend the other occupant of the room didn't exist. 

Dawn, however, had something on her mind other than Kennedy's cereal, and while she hadn't wanted to approach her with the subject, it was infinitely easier than her other option. "You slept in the spare room last night, didn't you?" she asked, knowing she was right, but trying to create an opening in the impending conversation. 

The young Slayer met Dawn's gaze. "Yeah. So what?" 

"So why?" Kennedy refused to answer, and cast her eyes elsewhere. Dawn kept pushing. "Why, Kennedy? Are you and Willow okay?" 

"Do you care?" she challenged, defensively. 

"I care about Willow." The reply was blunt; she had no intentions whatsoever to protect Kennedy's feelings, and there was certainly no love lost between the two of them. Dawn's expression didn't falter; she continued to gaze at Kennedy with hard eyes over her coffee mug. 

"Are you implying I don't?" 

Dawn shrugged. "You're not exactly proving you do. All you two seem to do lately is argue." 

Kennedy was trying not to rise to the bait, but she was dealing with the Slayer's sister, and if Dawn was even half as stubborn as Buffy, it would prove to be an interesting argument. "That's between us." 

"Not when you're living here, it's not. It's bad enough Andrew and Xander bickering all the time, but they're not… y'know." She shook her head at herself; she was trying to make a point, not a joke, and besides which, Andrew wasn't her favourite person at that moment in time. "Anyway, my point is, it's not good for Buffy. She has enough to deal with without there being 'atmosphere'" – here, she quoted with her fingers – "between you and Willow, and besides which, Willow needs everyone's support right now if she's going to take Giles up on his teaching offer." 

"What makes you think it's just me?" 

She shrugged again. "A hunch." The toaster popped, and Kennedy used the welcome distraction as a cue to end the conversation. Dawn, however, wasn't finished, and as the other girl concentrated on buttering her toast, she continued, "I know from your perspective me and Willow aren't even that close, but she's my sister's best friend, and I've known her just as long as Buffy has. She's done some crazy stuff; we all have. And what she had with Tara… nothing will ever compare to that. She's not going to just forget her, Kennedy." 

"I'm not expecting her to, Dawn," she said, mocking her condescending and faux-sympathetic tone of voice, and following it by taking a loud, crunching bite out of her toast. 

"Good. But if this isn't working out between you? You have to tell her. I'm not going to stand by and let Willow get hurt." 

Kennedy swallowed her toast, and straightened up, moving automatically into a defensive stance. She wasn't about to let Dawn forget the fact that she was a Slayer. "Are you threatening me? Have you forgotten who you're talking to? I could kick your ass from here to-" 

"Oh, please," snorted Dawn. "I threatened a quarter of the Scourge of Europe, once. You don't scare me." 

"Really…" Kennedy relaxed her stance a little. "Looks like I'm going to have to prove you wrong. On both counts. As for Willow and me, we're fine, thank you for asking, and once everything's settled down, nothing's going to come between us. So you'd better get used to it." 

Dawn disposed of the rest of the coffee down the sink, and said, "If you say so," then brushed past the young Slayer on her way out of the kitchen. The matter was very effectively closed at that moment as Willow and Andrew entered the room and filled it with the usual banter. Kennedy stared disbelievingly down the hallway after Dawn, watching as she left the house, and let the conversation wash over her like waves. 

  
  
Buffy had spent the day alone with her thoughts and the city of Cleveland; she'd jumped onto a bus and gone to explore. Giles' initial scouting missions had only taken in the less salubrious areas of the city, but, apart from finding the restaurant that night, nobody had been able to find the time to really look around. She had no idea where to buy coffee, clothes, or even look for work, if such an opportunity ever arose, and she certainly didn't know where the nearest cinema was. From the back, most places started to look the same. So, now that things were slowing down and the Slayers were becoming less frequent in their arrival, they finally had some time to themselves, and she'd spent the day wandering aimlessly, thinking things over. It was during her travels that she'd spotted the nightclub. 

It was called _The Lilac Tree_, and was one of several in the area. The name had immediately struck her as being very strange for a club, and the frontage seemed more approachable than some of the others. Its sign boasted a speciality cocktail known simply as 'Lilac Wine', and it was that, along with the tasteful décor of the café that the club turned into during afternoon hours, which attracted Buffy to investigate further. It was open from eight o'clock in the morning until three the following morning, functioning as a café/bar until ten in the evening and a club for the rest of the night. It also transpired that the management had decreed an under-eighteens night that very day. Figuring that they all deserved a night out and the girls would want to see the town as well – assuming Giles ever actually gave them time off, of course – Buffy had immediately gone home again to inform the household, her troubles momentarily forgotten. 

Giles had agreed to let the new Slayers out. He'd even come along for the fun, and so had Ms. Travers and some of the other Watchers, though most of them left after an hour. Giles had considered it 'educational' that they participate in the culture of their potential charges. They'd arrived at nine to relax in the ambience of the café, and barely even noticed as it transformed into a club by means of subtle lighting changes and increasingly more up-tempo music, so much so that by eleven, the night was in full swing, and Giles hadn't complained once. Of course, he was refusing to dance. By midnight, Willow had fed him just enough spritzers that he was slurring a little and being more relaxed than anyone had seen him for a long time. 

The night went on and most of the younger girls opted to go home; Ms. Travers – the designated driver – and Giles took them back to the dorms. Only Vi and Molly stayed behind; the former was sitting in a corner muttering about the fact that she'd only got soda, and the latter was dancing up a storm in the middle of the floor. By two o'clock, most of the other patrons had also gone, since it was a weeknight, leaving the club to the Scoobies. 

Molly finished burning off her excess energy, finally, and came to sit back down again. "Thanks for findin' this place, Buffy," she said. "It's great!" 

"No problem," she muttered, and sipped her drink. Molly eyed it, suddenly thirsty. "Am I guessing you want a drink?" 

"Yeah. But they refused to serve me earlier because it's after midnight. Vi and me shouldn't even be 'ere. Nor should she," she said, indicating Kennedy, who ignored her. Andrew got up. 

"I'll go, if you want," he said, rooting through his pockets for some money. "Anyone else want another one?" 

Everyone indicated that they were fine, and he nodded and set off towards the bar. Xander's head bopped unconsciously to the beat of the music, tiredness and tipsiness starting to take their toll, and then he suddenly looked up. "This music's too cheerful," he said. "Who's up for a change?" 

"You got my vote," said Willow. "I kinda wanna dance, but… not to this." 

Buffy nodded. "Same here. Could do with mellowing a little." 

"Your wish is my command," said Xander. "Any requests?" 

"Nah, you choose," Willow told him. Xander gave a nod and sought out the DJ in the far corner. Buffy watched him conversing for a moment, going through the DJ's collection and dismissing various songs, before dragging her attention back to her drink. The music started up again, as Xander selected the first song and worked on picking another, just as Andrew returned with drinks for himself and Molly. 

"Andrew, what's in that?" she asked, when he handed the girl something suspiciously alcoholic-looking. 

He blanched. "Nothing…" Molly took a sip and promptly started coughing, her eyes bugging out. "Maybe a shot of vodka or two…" 

"Good stuff," Molly gasped out, and was about to take another drink when Buffy snatched it from under her nose. 

"No," she said, firmly. "I'm not being held responsible if Giles finds out you got drunk." The London girl pouted, but conceded defeat. "Andrew, what were you thinking?" 

"I… I wasn't. I'm sorry. I just ordered," he stammered, looking chastised. "I'll take it back and get it changed." He made to get up again, but Buffy stopped him. 

"It doesn't matter, Andrew. She can have mine." Buffy had ordered a coke, not wanting to aggravate her stomach, but she handed over what was left to the teenager and took the vodka-concoction for herself. She sniffed it experimentally, winced, and tried it. The vodka warmed her throat pleasantly just before the bitter aftertaste hit, and she stuck out her tongue with a rather unflattering noise that was far too familiar. Slamming the memory behind mental bars, she took another drink and forced herself not to gag. 

Xander had finished selecting songs. He ambled back over looking vaguely pleased with himself and stood at their table with an expectant expression. "How's this?" he asked. "Any better?" 

"Much," said Buffy. "Thanks." 

"So, either of you want to dance?" 

Buffy passed with a wave of her hand, but Willow nodded. "Sure." She took Xander's politely proffered hand and got to her feet. 

"Hey, wait a minute," said Kennedy. "I've been trying to get you to dance all night. What gives?" 

"Sorry, sweetie… I just wasn't in the mood for getting' my groove on, y'know? You can come with, if you want." 

She shook her head. "I can't dance to this; I need to burn energy…" 

Willow shrugged. "Okay. I'll be back in a while." So saying, she followed Xander out to the deserted dance floor. They started to slow dance, falling over each other for a few moments until they managed to coordinate to each other's movement, and their giggling dwindled into pensiveness as each became lost to their personal thoughts. Kennedy watched them, thinking back to her conversation with Dawn that morning, and began to wonder if maybe Buffy's sister knew something she didn't. Her relationship with Willow was strained, but she knew it was just a glitch because they were all stressed and tired. They'd get over it… wouldn't they? Watching her dance with Xander, Kennedy wasn't sure any more. She wasn't worried about Xander; she knew he and Willow went way back. She was just worried that maybe Willow was losing interest. 

  
  
_The Lilac Tree_ became their regular nightspot after that. A few times, the whole gang would meet up, and other times, they'd use it as a place to escape to. During the week, it was quiet; at weekends, it was hectic and crowded, both extremes suiting to someone's mood. 

This particular Tuesday night, Xander had come out by himself to get out of the house. Kennedy and Willow were arguing – again – and Buffy wanted to be left alone, while Dawn was trying too hard to cheer everybody up and Andrew was getting on his final nerve by just being Andrew. He sat in a corner of the room with a drink he'd been staring into for the past hour, and lost himself to his thoughts. One song ended, and another started; he'd been there so long that things were being repeated, and if he hadn't been moping before it started, the opening strains alone were enough to set him off. 

He took a swig of his drink and winced. None of them had been brave enough to try the infamous 'Lilac Wine' yet, so he was drinking a foreign beer that was slightly below par. The day had been rather horrendous. Buffy was ill again, though not as badly as before, and as a result had refused to eat the breakfast that Andrew had slaved over, in turn leading him to sulk for the rest of the day because he was 'underappreciated'. Dawn, still not on the best of terms with him, had somehow decided that it was Xander's job to cheer him up, which Xander had attempted to do. Andrew was having none of it, however, preferring to play the martyr (even though everybody knew he'd be back to his usual annoying self come the next day.) So, here Xander was, drowning his and everybody else's sorrows in bad beer and depressing music. 

Depressing or not, though, the song was starting to worm its way into his brain, and he knew he'd have to buy it at some point. It reminded him of Anya, somehow; lots of things did. The 'ka-ching!' of an old-fashioned till, fluffy bunny rabbits in pet shops, comfort ice cream, _Dungeons and Dragons_… She was everywhere he looked, and there was no escape. He still didn't know what had happened to her, and Andrew was still completely unwilling to tell him. Sometimes, it seemed like he might open up, but then he'd be struck by some residual, nightmarish image, and recoil into himself again, locking the knowledge up. 

Xander was starting to hate him for it, and starting to hate himself for wanting so desperately to find out, which would only make everything worse. It was easier not to know, easier to be ignorant of her doubtless violent demise… but it was impossible to move on without knowing _something_. He believed Andrew's conviction that Anya had saved his life, but there had to be more to it, and Andrew seemed to be keeping something back. Whatever it was, it was eating him alive, and Xander could tell. None of them really paid that much attention to him, except for Buffy, who was only trying to make him feel more at ease… but sometimes, Xander heard him crying in the bunk over his. He never asked why. 

He finished off the last of his drink with a wince and snapped himself out of the reverie. His train of thought was one stop from Mopeville, Ohio, and he probably ought to get back. Getting to his feet, he stretched his legs and arms and searched the room for the exit. Then, something – or rather, someone – at the bar caught his attention. 

  
  
She stubbed the cigarette out into the ashtray on the bartop, adding another butt to the sizeable pile already there, then reached into the box in front of her for another. The decidedly under-worked bartender instinctively reached for a lighter and held it out to her. 

"You actually gonna smoke that one?" he asked. "Because if not, I'd say it's an expensive habit…" 

She shrugged, and resumed her initial position, hand poised over the ashtray, the cigarette never reaching her lips. The glass in front of her remained undrunk, save for a tiny sip that she decreed was too bitter by far. She felt the presence behind her, but didn't register who it was until the familiar voice sounded out, with a hint of concern: 

"Buffy? When did you start _smoking_? And is that whiskey?" 

"Xander…" She propped the cigarette over the ashtray and turned to face him. His expression was questioning and worried. Buffy indicated the abundance of ash in the tray. "Don't really think you can call it smoking…" 

He positioned himself on a stool beside hers. "Huh. I guess not. So, what-?" 

"It doesn't matter," she said, quickly, and slid from the barstool, not meeting his gaze. Before she could escape, Xander grasped her arm, gently, but firmly. 

"Buffy." 

She sighed, defeated, hiding behind the curtain of her hair. "I just… The smell. Smoke and whiskey." She looked up; if she couldn't tell this to one of her best friends, then who could she tell? "It just reminded me. I thought… God, I don't know what I thought. There's nothing else, Xander. Nothing." She couldn't find the words to explain; it had been an action based on emotion. Frustrated, she reached for the whiskey and took another sip, resisting the urge to gag. Her next words were harsh from the roughness of the liquor, and too long fighting tears. "This doesn't even come close," she said, "but it's all I've got." 

She reached for the whiskey again, but Xander stopped her, his hand gripping hers over the glass. "I know," he said. "I get it. I do. But… it's not going to help, Buffy. It won't help you forget him any easier." 

Using subdued Slayer-strength, she prised his hand from hers, releasing the glass, and gave him a glare. "I don't want to forget, Xander. I'll _never_ forget." That phrase sounded eerily familiar, but she couldn't place why, the memory just beyond her conscious grasp. "This isn't about forgetting. It's about comfort…" 

"What, getting drunk and clogging your arteries with second-hand smoke? Nice comfort…" 

"Are you honestly standing there and telling me that you haven't tried to do the same? That you haven't tried to mix perfume and shampoo just to get her back? That you haven't gone to the places she would have wanted you to go, seen the movies she would've liked?" He was silent. "I didn't think so…" 

"That's different…" he muttered. 

"No, it's not. And if you _ever_ suggest that what I felt for him is different to how you felt for Anya, I'll-" 

"'Snot what I meant," he said, quietly, interrupting her. "You saw him. You saw how he… You were there, when it mattered; you were the last thing he saw, the last thing he heard… But I… I don't even know what happened, Buff. I wasn't there; she didn't even know how much I…" He shook his head. "So, yeah, it's different." 

She stared at him. Wiping irritably at tears – _Not now, not here_ – she placed her other hand on his shoulder. "Oh, Xander… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lash out, it's just…" She trailed off helplessly. 

He placed a hand over hers where it rested on his shoulder, and smiled. "Seems like we could both look for better ways to find comfort, huh? Like our friends." When she didn't answer, he said, "You don't need to keep this up around us, Buffy. We can all see how much you're hurting. I know Giles is busy, but me, Willow and Dawn are still here for you if you need to make a crash landing. I'm not so good with the comfort, but I can stand by with Kleenex and manly hugs…" 

She offered a weak smile. "I know. I just…" She sighed. "I'm afraid that if I start… I don't think I'll be able to stop." 

He understood. It was all he could do to keep his own emotions bottled up, knowing the little he already did; Buffy had seen so much more, been through so much, lost so many people over the years, that keeping her emotions in check had become somewhat second nature. He admired her for it, and pitied the fact that it was necessary. Maybe the chance for her to be a normal girl had come too late for it to matter any more. 

  
  
Another week passed, and Giles had finally brought together some kind of lesson plan for the girls. His topmost priority was to hone their fighting skills and strength instead of letting it go to waste. The Potentials that Buffy had already trained in preparation for the battle had been enlisted in the same class as the new girls, despite their protests. It turned out, however, that they were in need of re-training themselves, and they seemed to be enjoying the programme Giles had constructed, as well as the use of a proper training room. The group was taught altogether, and then segregated into smaller groups for training, which meant Buffy – as their living example – had a fairly full schedule. 

On this particular day, however, she was stuck in one of Giles' seminars about momentum and body weight and using the surroundings to one's advantage, all of which she already knew. She had seated herself at the back, near the window, letting Giles' voice drone over her head (as most of the other girls seemed to be doing) as her mind wandered. 

Sitting in on the seminars – and helping to train the girls – had seemed a fairly decent way to keep herself occupied, but it had turned out to be just as easy to mope at the Training Centre than it was at the house. But then, her concentration span had been ridiculous at university, too. It was only slightly ironic that her mind was wandering for more or less the same reason… 

She remembered her own training tactics: speed, agility, learning-by-doing, kill before you get killed. She was all about the hands-on approach. Giles preferred to get the theory out of the way first. Of course, there was a lot to be said for that: less embarrassing moments with one's sparring partner, for a start, and even now, she could remember the way his ribs had cracked… 

She shook herself physically back to the present, just in time to catch Giles' eye as he said, "…and now, for the purposes of demonstration, I'll let Buffy show you how it's done." 

She gave a nod, and made her way to the front of the room, incredibly aware of the various pairs of eyes watching her every move. Standing before them all, she tried to think of something to say. 

"Well. Hi. Some of you don't know me, some of you have probably had more than enough of me, so I'll make this brief. My name's Buffy. I'm the Slayer; or I was. Now I'm just a Slayer, just like you, and other than beating Giles up on a semi-regular occasion, I'm retiring." Laughter rippled through the room, and she relaxed a little. "This all sounds really boring at the moment, right? Trust me, it's more fun than it sounds. It'll take a while, but most of you'll find it comes second nature. Right. Giles?" 

"Yes?" 

"Let's get this show on the road…" 

It began. Giles gave verbal instructions and punches for her to block, and Buffy demonstrated to the assembled young Slayers, losing herself in the movements and the fake sparring. The connection between her brain and her body was just enough for her to concentrate, but aside from that, her mind soon drifted elsewhere. 

Somewhere along the way, auto-pilot kicked in, her body falling into familiar patterns without really paying attention to what Giles was doing or telling her to perform, and then, suddenly, she was on the floor from a misplaced fist in her stomach that she'd completely failed to block. A gasp resounded around the room at seeing her go down, some of the girls rising out of their seats to get a better view, but none of them approaching. Giles shook off his initial shock at flooring her and went to her side. 

"My God, are you all right?" 

"Yeah, I'm okay. I must've just forgotten myself for a moment…" He offered her a hand up, which she took, and she smiled to reassure him. "This is one for the books, Giles," she said. "You should be pleased with yourself…" 

"Yes, well…" 

Just as she was about to say something, she paled and pressed a hand over her mouth, making a bolt for the kitchen. A couple of the girls from the front row, Vi included, followed her, and found her in the process of throwing up. She soon recovered, however, more embarrassed at being witnessed than anything else. 

"Are you okay?" asked Vi. 

"I wasn't feeling too good this morning. I guess Giles' fist just finished the job…" 

The younger girl with Vi put her hand up, and from Buffy's questioning expression, she asked, "Is this… a Slayer thing? Like, are we gonna throw up whenever some bad guy hits us?" 

"No." That was Giles in the doorway, several more curious Slayers behind him. "Buffy's just under a lot of stress at the moment…" It was as good an excuse as any, and they seemed to accept it. He directed his next comment to everyone. "Now, I hope all of you were paying attention. I want you to pair up and go out to the back garden to practice some of those moves you just saw." 

"Now?" asked another Slayer. 

"No time like the present," he said. "Go on." He shooed them all out of the back doors. Buffy watched with some amusement as they all wandered out. Giles turned to her. "Are you sure you're-" 

"I'm fine. It must be a bug or something." The sound of giggling and falling over resounded from outside and she peered at the girls as they attempted to spar (noting with an eye-roll that Kennedy had assumed a leading role once more), before giving Giles an impressed smirk. "You're really in your element, aren't you?" 

"Well, you might say that…" 

"Just think, all these eager young Slayers, willing to learn… must be a dream come true." 

"Actually," he said, though he appreciated her jesting tone, "the thought's rather daunting. The sooner the other Watchers can help, the better." Buffy nodded. Her stomach made an ominous rumbling noise and Giles looked concerned. 

"Don't worry," she said, "I'm just hungry…" 

He smiled, relieved. "Oh. Well, you can go and get some lunch, if you want. I think I can handle them from here. Or, at the very least, I'll leave them in Kennedy's capable hands." From without, the accused was heard to shout, 'You! Maggot! Down and gimme twenty!'. "Or then again…" 

Buffy made her way to the door. "Good luck…" 

  
  
The first day of training had been exhausting for all concerned. Giles had apparently zonked out on the sofa in the common room just before ten, leaving the girls with the joyful task of trying to wake him up again, and Kennedy had returned at about six, complaining about public transport. Now, just before midnight, everyone was either asleep or trying to be. 

For Buffy, sleepless nights were becoming an expected part of her routine. She'd learnt to accept it, so much so that she'd often find her cheeks or pillow soaked with tears without even realising she'd been crying at all. Her conversation with Xander at _The Lilac Tree_ kept ringing through her head, and what he'd mentioned about her being there when it mattered. He was right, to some degree, given what she'd divulged to them all afterwards. Nobody else knew about her confession at the Hellmouth, nor what was said to her afterwards. They'd only have tried to justify it, explain her feelings and his reaction away because of the situation they'd been in. She couldn't be dealing with that, not on top of everything else. 

Maybe Xander's situation _had_ been different… but the more she thought about it, the more she began to wish she hadn't been there. She'd promised him, that night, that she'd wait until it was all over… and God, she wished she'd kept that promise… 

  
  
Willow couldn't sleep, so she had resorted to pacing. If not for the fact that Kennedy had taken up the entire bed – and not for the first time, she hated to acknowledge – but for the fact that she was unable to make her thoughts stop running around her brain. Giles' teaching offer was still playing on her mind. The prospect was incredibly daunting, but exciting. She wasn't sure if she could do it; it was true she'd taken over Miss Callendar's computer classes all those years ago, but that was different. Giles wanted her to teach magic, and she'd only just managed to grasp control of it herself. If she took up the offer, there were lesson plans to create, teaching methods to figure out… 

She needed help, no doubt about it, but there was nobody qualified that they could trust. If Kennedy would just show an interest… if she was more like- 

_Don't go there_, she told herself. _She'll never be… She's not._

She risked a glance at the clock – 2.39 – and stifled a groan. It was a warm night, and the open window did nothing to dispel the wall of heat that seemed to surround her. Making her way to the window, she stared out over the yet-to-be tended backyard, and waited for the sun to rise. 

  
  
The tell-tale pale stripe on the horizon only served to make her even more irritable as she stared out of the front window; morning was only a few hours away. Letting out a large yawn, she wandered back to bed, hoping tiredness would take over. 

After a few minutes of shuffling and rolling around, and forcing herself not to think about anything, she eventually drifted off to sleep… 

_She's back here again, walking through the endless dust. She's crouching again, to peer into the crater. Once more, as she pulls away to leave, her hand is pinned to the ground, shocking her. She calms herself with a breath and examines the hand, closer now than the last time, and reaches into the crater below. _

Those same flame-scarred knuckles grasp the crater's edge. She grabs onto an elbow, and hauls with all her might. The grip on her other hand loosens and she grasps its wrist, pulling up as she scrabbles to her feet. A body follows her, clambering from the abyss and sprawling at her feet, exhausted from the climb. 

She knows. She's always known. She takes a step back, afraid. 

He musters energy from somewhere, and struggles to his feet. They stand, an eternity apart, and she doesn't know what to say. 

"Are you real?" The obvious is all she can manage. 

"Not exactly…" he says, cryptically. 

"What's all this supposed to mean?" she asks, terrified to approach lest he vanish into the permeating dust. 

He smiles, but it makes her nervous for a reason she can't quite fathom. It's a smile that tells he knows more than she does. "I can't tell you that. Meant to be all with the cryptic. Bloody waste of time, if you ask me." 

Confused, she waves a hand to get him to slow down a little, her brow furrowing. "Stop. Just… tell me what's happening here." 

"Can't. Just came to give a message, is all. Then…" He looks behind him to the crater. 

"No." She shakes her head, taking a step closer. "No, you're not leaving me again. You can't just turn up in my dream and then disappear. That's… that's messing with the rules." 

"Neither of us make the rules, pet." 

Tears sting her eyes; she'd normally blame the dust, but there's no point. There's nobody to convince. "It's not fair. Is this all I get? A fleeting visit before you disappear?" She yearns to be held, comforted, kissed better, but she knows somehow that it won't happen. She knows it's not allowed. "My subconscious is my territory; I thought I was done with the stupid Slayer dreams now… This is the only place I can… If I can't have this… what else do I have?" She reaches out, not touching, because she's scared her hand will pass right through him. "How… how am I supposed to carry on like this?" 

His hand touches hers, asserting, at least, some form of realness, and their fingers link like that fateful night, only this time they burn with cold, not fire. Her eyes close to stem the barrage of emotions, and she forces herself to focus on his voice, not her own inner ramblings. 

"You can," he tells her. "You can, and you will." 

"Why?" It's barely above a whisper. 

He uses their joined hands to pull her closer, a little uncertainly. This wasn't part of the plan, it seems, but it's torment to watch her torture herself. The message comes as he reaches up to stroke her cheek. "Live for what's inside you." 

Before she can question him, he captures her lips in a kiss. Pulling away just as suddenly, her only reaction is a shocked expression, and the next thing she knows, he's turned and jumped back into the crater. Snapping out of it instantly, she runs to the edge. 

There's nobody to be seen. 

**BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP!**

The alarm clock bleeped aggressively, and Buffy's eyes shot open. She panicked for a second before realising where she was, as Dawn grunted from the other bed, and the sound of birdsong drifted through the window. 

The message bounced around her brain, trying to make sense of itself and failing, before finally filing itself in her memory for later recall… but the sense of impending doom that followed her prophetic dreams remained, along with the lingering sensation of that final dream-kiss. She felt her heart snap in two. 

_To be continued…_

**A/N:** There. Spuffy. Don't say I'm never good to you. Though in honesty, I didn't intend the dream to end up as Spuffy as it did, but seriously, I'm going insane, here… You think you've got it bad having to wait another 14 chapters for the Spuffy? I'm the one who knows what's going to happen and isn't allowed to write it yet! 

Anyway. Lyrics follow. Review, if you would be so kind. =) 

**Learnin' The Blues  
**_(Katie Melua)  
_The tables are empty  
The dance floor's deserted  
You play the same love song,  
It's the tenth time you've heard it.  
That's the beginning, just one of the clues  
You've had your first lesson  
In learnin' the blues.

The cigarettes you light  
On after the other,  
Won't help you forget him  
When you're losing your lover.  
You're only burning a torch you can't lose  
But you're on the right track  
For learnin' the blues. 

When you're out in a crowd  
The blues will taunt you constantly  
When you're out in a crowd  
The blues will haunt your memory. 

The nights when you don't sleep  
The whole night you're crying  
But you can't forget him  
Soon you even stop trying.  
You walk the floor  
And wear out your shoes  
When you feel your heart break  
You're learnin' the blues… 

_(From Call Off The Search; lyrics by Delores J Silver.)_


End file.
